• 


• 


I  n 
•  -    i 

..   '• 


THE 


GENTLEMAN    IN    BLACK, 


TALES    OF    OTHER   DAYS. 


THE 


GENTLEMAN    IN   BLACK, 


TALES  OF  OTHER  DAYS. 


WITH    ILLUSTRATIONS 


Cndksjfaiik. 


Ai\D  OTHERS. 


ST.  LOUIS 

EDWARDS  &  BUSHELL 

1857. 


CONTENTS. 


THE  GENTLEMAN  IN  BLACK 


TALES  OF  OTHER  DAYS: — 

The  Magic  Phial;  or,  An  Evening  at  Delft          .        .119 

A  Tale  of  the  Civil  Wars 123 

Friar  Rush:  A  Tale  of  Faerie 132 

Ghysbrecht,  the  Free-lance 139 

The  Three  Suitors 153 

The  Fifth  of  November:  A  Legend  of  Palace  Yard     .     164 

A  Tale  of  the  Low  Countries 182 

Trial  by  Battle 188 

The  Castle  of  Stauffenberg 201 

The  Brothers:  A  Tale  of  London  Bridge    .         .        .207 
Roger  Clevelly :  A  Devonshire  Legend       .         .        .217 

Haviland  Hall 230 

A  Tour  to  the  North 247 

The  Ring  and  the  Mendicant 257 

The  Journey  of  Azibah:  An  Eastern  Tale    .        .        .    275 


CONTENT*. 

PACK 

The  Death's  Head 283 

Waldeck:  A  Tale  from  the  German     .        .        .        .297 

The  Awkward  Man 305 

Who  can  it  Be? 316 

The  Robber  Spatolino 325 

Trials  of  Temper 349 

The  Prediction :  A  Tale  of  New-year's  Eve          .        .  362 

An  Adventure  in  1780 373 

The  Magician's  Visiter        ......  381 

A  Norwegian  Sketch                   386 


- 


THE 


GENTLEMAN    IN   BLACK. 


THE 

GENTLEMAN    IN    BLACK. 


CHAPTER  I. 

"  WHAT  the  devil  shall  I  do?"  exclaimed  Louis  Desonges: 
"  not -a  sous  have  I  in  the  world  besides  that  solitary  five- 
franc  piece!  and,  where  the  next  is  to  come  from,  I  cannot 
divine.  What  the  devil  must  I  do?" 

"  Did  you  call,  Monsieur?"  asked  a  gentle  voice,  which 
seemed  to  proceed  from  the  more  dusky  corner  of  the  apart- 
ment, in  which  Louis  was  sitting  in  his  old  arm-chair,  before 
a  worm-eaten  table  covered  with  books  and  papers. 

"  Who,  in  the  name  of  fate,  are  you?"  responded  the  un- 
happy youth,  looking  round  in  search  of  the  individual  from 
whom  the  inquiry  had  proceeded. 

"  Precisely  so,"  replied  a  stout,  short,  middle-aged  gentle? 
man,  of  a  somewhat  saturnine  complexion,  as  he  advanced 
from — we  can't  say  exactly  where — into  the  middle  of  the 
room.  He  was  clad  in  black,  according  to  the  fashion  of  the 
day;  had  a  loose  Geneva  cloak,  as  an  upper  garment,  of  the 
same  colour;  and  carried  a  large  bundle  of  black-edged 
papers,  tied  with  black  tape,  under  his  arm.  Without  the 
smallest  ceremony,  he  placed  a  chair  opposite  our  hero, 
bowed,  seated  himself,  smiled,  laid  his  papers  on  the  table! 
rubbed  his  hands,  and  appeared  altogether  prepared  for 
business.  Louis  felt  somewhat,  embarrassed,  but  returned  the 
stranger's  bow  with  all  due  civility;  and,  after  a  brief,  awkward 
pause,  ventured  to  inquire  the  name  of  the  gentleman  whom 
lie  had  the  honour  of  addressing-. 


4  THE    GENTLEMAN    IN    BLACK. 

"  It  is  of  little  moment,"  replied  his  extraordinary  visitor: 
"  you  are  in  difficulties,  and  it  is  in  my  power  to  assist  yon:" 
and,  so  saying,  he  began,  in  due  form,  to  untie  and  "  sort 
out"  his  papers  upon  the  table.  Poor  Louis  looked  on  in 
silence,  and,  sighing,  bethought  himself,  that  if  he  had  been 
as  constant  in  his  attendance  at  lectures,  and  in  the  courts,  as 
at  the  billiard-tables  and  gaming-houses  at  the  Palais  Royal, 
he  might  have  picked  up  law  enough  to  have  enabled  him  to 
involve  a  case,  in  which  so  many  documents  were  necessary, 
in  a  yet  deeper  state  of  mystification.  "  As  it  is,"  thought 
he,  "  the  man  will  soon  discover  my  ignorance  ;  so,  as  I  have 
not  yet  practised,  I'll  be  honest,  and  tell  him  the  truth  at 
once." 

"  You  need  not  trouble  yourself  to  do  that,  sir,"  said  the 
stranger. 

"  To  do  what?  sir,"  interrogated  Louis;  "  I  did  not  say 
anything." 

"  I  know  that,  my  dear  sir,"  observed  the  gentleman  in 
the  cloak,  still  busying  himself  with  his  papers ;  "  but  it  is 
just  the  same  thing." 

"  What  is  just  the  same  thing?  I  don't  at  all  comprehend 
you!"  exclaimed  the  youth. 

"  Precisely  so,"  continued  the  stranger;  "  there,  they  are 
all  correct,  I  believe — so,  my  dear  sir,  as  you  were  say- 
ing"  

"  Excuse  me,  sir,"  said  Louis,  "  I  was  not  saying  anything." 

"  Pardon  me,  my  dear  young  friend,"  quoth  the  gentleman 
with  the  black-edged  papers,  "  you  talked  of  telling  me  the 
truth  at  once." 

"  Not  I,  sir;  I  only  thought  of  doing  so." 

"  Oh!  that's  all  the  same  with  us." 

M  Then  you're  no  lawyer,  I'm  sure,"  replied  the  youth. 

'•'  Not  I,  my  friend;  but,  really,  I  should  be  sorry *to  appear 
unpolite  to  a  gentleman  of  your  birth  and  talents.  The  fact, 
however,  is,  that  my  engagements  are,  just  now,  exceedingly 
numerous  and  pressing;  therefore,  allow  me  just  to  explain. 
This  paper" 

"  Confound  this  headache,"  thought  poor  Louis  to  him- 
self; "  if  I  had  gone  to  bed  last  night,  instead  of  watching 
over  the  rouge  et  noir  table,  and  losing  my" 

"  Pshaw!  pshaw!  smell  this  bottle,"  "said  the  stransrer, 
politely  handing  a  small  exquisitely  cut  black  glass  bottle, 
which  he  took  out  of  a  black  ebony  case. 

The  young  gentleman  did  so,  and  felt  "  powerfully  re- 


THE    GENTLEMAN    IN    BLACK.  5 

freshed;"  his  head  instantly  appeared  clearer,  and  his  whole 
frame  exhilarated. 

"  Mon  Dim!"  he  exclaimed,  "  Monsieur,  where  did  you 
buy  that  wonderful  specific?" 

"  Hist!"  ejaculated  the  stranger;  "  don't  swear,  I  entreat 
you.  It  is  extremely  disagreeable  to  me." 

"  Well,  then,  I  will  not,"  said  Louis;  "  but — pray  inform 
me!  Poor  little  Louise!  and  Adele!  and  the  Comtesse! 
they'd  adore  me,  if  I  could  but  procure  for  them  such  a 
specific.  Pray,  Monsieur,  I  conjure  you,  in  the  name 
of" 

"  Stop!"  cried  the  other,  starting  from  his  chair,  "  not  a 
word  more!  There,  there,  I  make  you  a  present  of  the 
bottle,  case  and  all.  I  manufactured  it  myself,  for  the  use  of 
particular  friends  only." 

"  I'll  give  you  a  thousand  francs  for  the  recipe,"  exclaimed 
Louis. 

"  Where  will  you  find  the  money?"  asked  the  stranger, 
coolly  settling  himself  back  in  his  chair,  like  a  man  who  has 
found  his  vantage-ground. 

"  Where,  indeed !"  groaned  poor  Louis.  Then,  having 
rested  his  head  awhile  upon  his  empty  palm,  he  bethought 
him  that  something  might  be  made  of  the  stranger's  papers, 
and,  therefore,  addressed  himself  to  business. 

"  I  should  ask  your  pardon,  sir,"  said  he,  "  for  talking  of 
perfumes;  I  accept  this  bottle  as  a  token  of  amity  between 
us;  and  now,  if  you  please" 

"  Good!"  observed  the  gentleman  in  black,  "  that  is  what 
I  wish.  I  am  a  plain  man" — (somewhat  plain,  I  must 
confess,  thought  Louis) — "  well — that's  nothing.  I  wish  to 
act  handsomely  by  you;  I  have  taken  a  great  fancy  to  you, 
and  you  are  over  head  and  ears  in  debt — have  a  hopeless  love 
affair — have  neglected  your  studies — offended  your  uncle — 
shattered  your  constitution" 

"  Mon  Dieu!"  exclaimed  the  youth. 

"  If  you  say  that  again,  sir,"  said  the  gentleman  in  black, 
"  I  shall  take  my  departure.  I  told  you  before,  that  I  objected 
to  swearing." 

"  Diable,  then !"  cried  Louis. 

"  That's  better,"  quoth  his  companion,  smiling;  and,  taking 
a  pinch  of  blackguard,  (which   an    Irish   gentleman,  in   a 
passion,  had  given  him,)  out  of  a  black  tortoise-shell  box, 
handed  it  politely  to  our  hero. 
B  2 


G  THE    GENTLEMAN    IN    BLACK. 

"  No,  sir,"  said  the  latter,  sternly,  "  you  and  your  snuff  may 
go  to  h —  together." 

"  Precisely  so,"  calmly  observed  the  stranger,  returning- 
the  box  to  his  pocket,  but  not  offering  to  move  from  his 
chair. 

"  This  is  a  little  too  much,"  cried  the  enraged  young 
Frenchman,  starting  upon  his  legs:  "  tell  me,  sir,  what  you 
mean  by  intruding  upon  my  privacy,  and  insulting  me  with 
the  repetition  of -all  my  misfortunes?  Who,  and  what  the 
devil  are  you?" 

"  Precisely  so,  as  I  told  you  before,"  replied  the  unruffled 
stranger. 

"  Precisely  what  ?  I  don't  understand  you!  You  maybe 
the  devil  himself,  for  aught  I  know." 

"  Precisely  so,"  was  the  reply. 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  you  really  are  the" 

"  Precisely  so.  We  have  an  objection  to  plain  yes 
and  no." 

"  Then  you  are  a  lawyer,  after  all." 

"  Not  I,  though  I  confess  I  have  practised  occasionally: — 
but,  pshaw!  this  is  a  waste  of  time.  I  know  your  troubles 
and  difficulties,  and  would  help  you  through  them,  if  you 
will  allow  me.  I  have  money  to  any  amount  at  my  disposal 
and  immediate  command,  as  you  may  satisfy  yourself;"  and 
he  threw  a  large  black  morocco  leather  pocket-book  upon 
the  table,  where  it  instantly  burst  open,  from  the  extension  of 
(to  poor  Louis's  eyes)  an  innumerable  quantity  of  billets  de 
banque,  for  500  francs  each.  "  And,  as  for  gold" — and  he 
began  to  draw  from  his  breeches'  pocket  a  black  satin  purse, 
to  which  Louis  thought  there  would  be  no  end,  so  singularly 
did  it  appear  to  elongate  itself,  as  the  stranger  continued  to 
tug  it  from  its  dark  abode,  till  it  had  attained  the  full  extent 
of  a  Flemish  ell.  Yet,  in  his  hands,  it  appeared  light  as  thy 
eider-down,  till,  having  placed  it  carefully  on  the  table,  the 
weight  of  the  gold  within  rent  asunder  its  silken  prison,  and  a 
large  quantity  of  louis  d'ors  rolled  out  upon  the  table. 

Louis  looked  first  at  the  immense  wealth  before  him,  then 
at  his  visitor;  again  at  the  gold  arid  notes;  ard  so  on, 
alternately,  about  half  a  dozen  times,  ere  he  foui  1  himself 
capable  of  uttering  even  an  exclamation  of  surprise.  And, 
each  time  his  eyes  rested  upon  the  stranger's  countenance, 
he  discerned  some  new  charm  of  feature  and  expression;  and 
lie  at  length  decided  that  he  had  never  before  seen  so 


THE    GENTLEMAN    IN    BLACK.  7 

perfectly  elegant,  agreeable,  interesting,  well-bred,  and 
accomplished  a  gentleman;  and  wondered  how  he  could  for 
an  instant  have  considered  him  a. plain  man. 

"  It's  always  the  way,"  observed  the  gentleman  in  black; 
"  strangers  think  me  anything  but  handsome:  yet,  as  we  get 
more  intimate,  my  society  becomes  more  and  more  agreeable; 
go  that  at  last  my  friends  are  ever  endeavouring  to  imitate 
me  in  all  their  actions  and  pursuits:  but  you'll  know  more 
about  that  bye  and  bye." 

Poor  Louis  had  by  this  time  made  up  his  mind  that  his 
visitor  was  no  other  thun  his  Infernal  Majesty;  and  would 
instantly  have  made  application  to  his  patron  saint,  and  as 
many  more  as  he  could  recollect  the  titles  of,  without  looking 
into  his  calendar,  upon  the  subject,  had  it  not  been  for  the 
dazzling  gold,  which  he  somehow  instinctively  apprehended 
would  vanish  from  his  sight  at  the  sound  of  their  names. "  If 
he  had  said  his  pater  noster  that  morning,  what  now  lay 
before  him  was  not,  most  assuredly,  the  sort  of  temptation 
from  which  he  would  have  dreamed  of  imploring  deliverance. 
The  dark,  middle-aged  gentleman  saw  the  gold  "  enter  into 
his  soul,"  and  let  it  work  its  way  in  silence  for  a  short  time, 
watching  his  victim's  countenance,  and  ever  and  anon  lookin* 
disconcerted,  as  the  youth's  guardian  angel  seemed  to  be 
whispering  in  his  ear. 

"  Well,  Monsieur  le  Baron!"  ejaculated  he  at  length, 
"  perhaps  the  trifle  you  see  on  the  table  may  be  of  some  little 
service  to  you?" 

"  I  am  no  Baron,"  observed  Louis. 

"  So  much  the  worse." 

"  I  know  that  well  enough,"  rejoined  Louis,  testily,  and 
heaved  a  sigh  as  he  thought  of  the  fair  Emilie,  and  her  most 
perpendicular  father,  the  Comte  de  Tien  a  la  Cour. 

'•  It's  your  own  fault,"  continued  the  gentleman  in  black, 
bustling  up  to  the  table,  and  opening  a  paper;  "  you  have  but 
to  sign  this  document,  and  what  you  see  on  the  table  is  but 
a  trifle  when  compared  with  the  riches  you  may  command; 
besides  uninterrupted  health,  and,  indeed,  whatever  you 
wish  for;  since  money,  you  know,  my  dear  friend,  carries  all 
before  it." 

"  And  pray,  sir,"  asked  Louis,  influenced,  as  he  afterwards 
declared,  merely  by  curiosity,  but  determined  not  to  sign 
the  paper  upon  any  terms,  "  what  may  be  the  contents  of  that 
document?", 

"  A  mere  bagatelle;  look  it  over  yourself.     Only  to  sin 


8  THE    GENTLEMAN    IN    BLACK. 

for  a  single  second  this  year,  two  seconds  the  next;  to  double 
it  the  third,  and  so  on  with  each  succeeding  year.  I  say  the 
penalty  amounts,  in  fact,  to  nothing;  for  the  truth  is,  you 
will  sin  for  a  much  longer  period  annually,  if  you  do  not  sign 
it,  to  say  nothing  of  the  crimes  which  poverty  and  despe- 
ration may  drive  you  to  commit."  So  saying,  he  threw  the 
p;i]>er  carelessly  towards  poor  Louis,  and  betook  himself  to 
his  blackguard,  with  due  gentlemanly  nonchalance. 

The  youth  read — "  Sin  for  a  second  in  the  first  year,  two 
seconds  the  second,"  then  looked  at  the  gold.  "  Let  me 
see,"  said  he,  calculating;  "  that  will  be  four  seconds  the 
third  year — eight  seconds  the  fourth — sixteen  seconds  the 
fifth — thirty-two  seconds  the  sixth,  and" 

"  Exactly  so,"  said  the  gentleman  in  black,  interrupting 
him;  "  that  is  about  a  minute  in  the  course  of  the  whole  six 
years.  And,  beside,  you'll  observe  a  clause,  by  which  all  the 
sins  you  have  committed  before,  and  all  that  you  may  in 
future  commit,  over  and  above  the  stipulated  agreement,  will 
be  taken  into  account.  So  that  you  see,  not  even  a  hermit 
need  live  more  immaculately." 

"  I  must  confess  you  are  very  liberal,"  observed  young 
*  Desonges,  doubtingly. 

"  You'll  always  h'nd  me  liberal,"  said  the  other,  handing  a 
pen  across  the  table. 

"  Stop!  stop!  Let  me  read  the  whole  paper  first." 

"  Oh,  by  all  means!  You'll  find  all  correctly  ex- 
pressed." 

Louis  ascertained  the  manner  in  which  he  was  to  obtain 
daily  supplies  of  money,  so  long  as  the  stipulations  in  the 
contract  were  fulfilled; — "  any  amount''  was  specified — he 
had  committed  sins  enough  already,  he  well  knew,  to  wipe 
off  the  score  for  many  years  to  come,  to  say  nothing  of  those 
which,  in  the  common  course  of  events,  must  of  necessity 
ensue.  The  dream  of  unlimited  riches,  and  unchecked  and 
unbounded  pleasure,  was  intoxicating;  but  yet  a  something 
he  knew  not  how  to  define,  prompted  him  to  hesitate.  At 
this  critical  juncture,  a  noise  arose  in  the  anti-room.  There 
was  a  war  of  words,  amid  which  was  heard  the  voice  of  a 
marchand  tailleur,  (from  whose  magasin  poor  Louis  had 
been  supplied  with  divers  habits,  redingottes,  gilets, 
&c.,  &c.,  for  which  payment  had  been  oft  and  again  de- 
manded, and  ever  in  vain,)  loudly  pre-eminent.  Threat  had 
succeeded  threat,  and  matters  were  now  approaching  to  a 
crisis 


THE    GENTLEMAN    IN    BLACK.  9 

"  How  much  does  the  fellow  want?"  asked  the  gentleman 
in  black. 

"  Three  thousand  livres,"  replied  Louis. 

"  Pshaw!  an  insignificant  trifle;  call  him  in  and  pay 
him — merely  to  get  rid  of  his  impertinence.  There — throw 
your  capote  over  the  rest  of  the  money — there  are  five 
thousand." 

"  Your  generosity  overpowers  me,"  exclaimed  the  as- 
tonished Louis,  taking  up  the  pen.  "  There,  sir,  I  have  signed 
the  paper." 

"  Good!  (reading)  'Louis  Desonges,' — perfectly  correct; 
and  there,  my  good  friend,  is  the  counterpart,  signed  by 
myself:  it's  a  singular  hand;  perhaps  you  may  not  be  able  to 
decipher  it:  indeed,  my  signature  is  frequently,  I  have  been 
told,  taken  for  that  of  some  of  your  great  men.  But  no 
matter;  if  it  answers  their  purpose  I  believe  they  don't  care 
much  for  that;  nor  I  either,  to  tell  you  the  truth.  However, 
I  must  be  off,  having  a  little  business  just  now  to  transact  in 
London." 

"  Stop,  my  dear  sir,"  exclaimed  Louis,  whose  fancy,  being 
now  relieved  from  the  terrors  of  a  jail,  was  once  more  on  the 
qui  vive.  "  You  promised  me  the  recipe  for  that  perfume^ 
We  must  not  forget  the  ladies.  There's  poor  Adele  suffers 
sadly  from  the  head-ache; — and  the  lovely  Comtesse — 
and" 

"  Ah ! — I  know  what  yon  would  say,"  replied  the  gentle- 
man in  black,  interrupting  him,  and  taking  a  black-edged 
paper  from  the  bundle,  which  he  had  again  tied  up  with  black 
tape;  "  they  are  almost  all  fond  of  such  things.  There — 
you  will  find  what  they  will  think  inestimable  recipes  for 
perfumes,  patches,  rouge,  distilled  waters,  and  all  that  sort  of 
thing.  I  am  the  original  inventor  of  them  all." 

"  The  devil  you  are!"  exclaimed  Louis. 

"  Precisely  so.  And,  let  me  tell  you,  I've  derived  no  little 
advantage  therefrom.  Not  that  I  began  to  introduce  them 
with  that  intent;  for,  to  say  the  truth,  I  had  not  then  become 
so  well  acquainted  with  the  follies  and  infatuation  of  man- 
kind: but,  the  fact  is,  I  hate  to  see  a  lovely  woman  in  her 
own  undisguised  charms  and  beauty.  She  always  reminds 
me  of  angels,  whose  existence  I  am  anxious  to  forget.  Some 
among  you,  who  have  not  yet  adopted  the  use  of  my  nostrums, 
still  preserve  the  form  of  beings  whom  I  once  saw  in  the 
presence  of  ONE  whom  I  dare  not  name." 

This  allusion  recalled  poor   Louis  to  his    senses.     He 


10  THE    GENTLEMAN    IN    BLACK 

shuddered  at  the  bare  recollection  of  what  he  had  done; 
and,  clasping  his  hands  together,  lifted  up  his  eyes  toward 
heaven,  and  fervently  ejaculated,  "  Oh!  mon  Dieu!" 

When  he  turned  to  look  for  his  sable  companion,  he  was 
gone.  If  he  had  been  allowed  time  for  reflection,  his 
thoughts  would  have  been  most  painful;  but  a  violent 
knocking  at  the  door  helped  to  awaken  him  from  his  dream. 
The  door  burst  open,  and  in  stalked  the  identical  tailor, 
whose  entree  had  been  announced  with  so  much  clamour. 
Louis  had,  almost  unconsciously,  pocketed  the  five  thousand 
livres,  and,  his  capote  concealing  the  rest  of  his  riches,  the 
scene  appeared,  to  the  tailor's  eye,  as  denuded  and  poverty- 
stricken  as  usual.  A  young  Frenchman  (particularly  if  in 
Paris)  flies  from  grave  to  gay,  with  more  volatility  than  any 
other  mortal;  and,  Louis,  having  no  fear  of  the  law  now 
before  his  eyes,  threw  himself i>ack  in  his  chair,  and,  with  au 
air  of  gay  defiance,  demanded  the  intruder's  business. 

"  Look  ye,   Monsieur,"  replied  the  man  of  '  shreds  and 

patches,'  "  my  mind  is  made  up;  1  have  two  officers  in  the 

next  room.     I  know  where  you  were  last  night,  throwing 

away  my  money  at  rouge  et  noir,  among  a  parcel  of  demi- 

^oldes  and  pauvre  diables." 

"  Never  mind,  Snip,"  said  Louis,  laughing;  "  good  luck 
must  come  at  last,  if  we  do  but  persevere." 

"  What!  and  you  dare  to  insult  me,  too!"  ejaculated  the 
enraged  tailor.  "  Come  in,  my  friends,  and  do  your  duty. 
There  is  your  prisoner." 

The  officers  advanced,  like  automata,  mechanically  bowing 
to  our  hero,  ere  they  made  him  captive.  The  tailor  at  this 
moment  took  hold  of  the  capote,  and  was  in  the  act  of  lifting 
it  up,  and  exclaiming  how  much  it  had  cost  him,  when  his 
attention  was  arrested  by  the  sight  of  a  small  portion  only  of 
Louis's  wealth;  but  sufficient  to  chanje  entirely  the  character 
of  his  countenance  and  tone.  He  let  the  capote  drop,  and 
fell  back  against  the  wall,  with  looks  of  almost  reverential  awe 
and  dismay,  stammering  a  thousand  apologies. 

"  If  you've  made  out  your  bill,  sir,"  said  Louis,  in  a  most 
dignified  style,  "  write  a  receipt."  Then,  throwing  a  Louis 
to  each  of  the  officers,  he  continued — "  Pray,  gentlemen, 
accept  that  trifle  for  the  trouble  this  fool  of  a  bourgeois  has 
occasioned  you.  I  wished  only  to  make  him  wait  a  little 
while  for  his  money,  as  a  punishment  for  his  impertinence, 
and  the  infamous  manner  in  which  he  has  frequently  made 
my  clothes,  and  kept  me  waiting  till  the  last  moment,  when 


THE    GENTLEMAN    IN    BLACK.  11 

I  was  going  to  a  party."  They  bowed — looked  at  each 
other — bowed  again; — and,  bowing,  retreated  backward,  as 
though  from  the  presence  of  majesty,  till  the  door  was  safely 
gained.  The  tailor  advanced,  in  the  same  lowly  attitude; 
wrote  the  acquit,  as  well  as  he  was  able;  made  another 
humble  apology;  received  his  money,  and  bowed  himself 
backward,  after  his  quondam  associates. 

Left  to  himself,  Louis  hummed  a  tune  from  the  last  new 
opera;  reflected  that  what  was  done  could  not  be  undone; 
and  concluded  it  was,  therefore,  not  worth  while  to  reflect  at 
all.  To  keep  all  clear  for  next  year,  he  resolved  to  go  and" 
commit  his  moment  of  sin  immediately.  Where  he  went,  or 
what  he  did,  has  not  been  recorded,  but  it  is  most  certain  that 
there  was  no  complaint  of  his  not  having  duly  fulfilled  his 
contract  for  many  years  afterward. 

About  the  same  time  that  this  adventure  occurred  to 
Louis  Desonges,  at  Paris,  there  was  a  young  gentleman  in 
the  city  of  London,  whose  father,  dying,  left  behind  him  a 
considerable  sum  of  ready  money,  beside  a  flourishing  West 
India  trade,  by  strict  attention  to  which  his  fortune  had  been 
amassed.  Charles  Maxwell  was  just  of  age.  He  had  re- 
ceived a  good  education,  in  the  first  place,  from  his  father, 
and  afterwards  a  very  handsome  allowance,  by  which  he  was 
enabled  to  keep  what  is  called  good  society,  whilst  the  old 
gentleman  stuck  close  to  the  counting-house  and  the  Ex- 
change, and  kept  "  all  right." 

But  when  he  died,  his  son,  taking  a  wider  range,  neglected 
the  business,  and  left  the  whole  of  his  mercantile  affairs  to 
his  clerks;  and  the  consequence  was,  that  in  less  than  two 
years  he  was  on  the  eve  of  figuring  in  the  Gazette. 

At  this  critical  juncture,  too,  he  had  fallen  in  love;  a 
contingency  which,  if  it  had  occurred  somewhat  earlier, 
might  possibly  have  made  him  more  careful  of  his  own 
concerns,  and  saved  him  from  the  temptation  which  awaited 
him.  In  sad  and  sober  mood,  he  sat  occupied  in  a  manner 
to  which  he  had  been  but  little  accustomed,  namely,  in 
melancholy  contemplation,  in  his  own  private  counting- 
house,  when  the  gentleman,  of  whom  we  have  already 
spoken,  suddenly  made  his  appearance,  with  his  black  coat, 
waistcoat,  inexpressibles,  and  stockings,  black  cloak,  black 
bag,  black-edged  papers,  tied  with  black  tape,  black  smelling- 
bottle,  snuff-box  and  blackguard,  in  the  same  style  as  when 
he  visited  the  poor  law  student  at  Paris,  not  forgetting  the 
needful  black  pocket-book,  and  long  elastic  black  silk  purse. 


1'2  THE    GENTLEMAN    IN    BLACK. 

A  similar  scene  took  place  to  that  which  befell  the  young 
Frenchman,  excepting  that  Charles  Maxwell's  decision  was 
accelerated  by  the  arrival  of  a  lot  of  "  returned  acceptances," 
in  lieu  of  one  long  tailor's  bill.  It  were  hard  to  say 
whether  the  English  or  the  French  gentleman  was  most 
elated  by  his  sudden  accumulation  of  wealth,  and  unexpected 
escape  from  disgrace. 

One  dreamed  of  horses,  dogs,  wines,  houses,  &c.  &c.;  the 
other,  of  operas,  dancers,  rouge  et  noir,  titles,  &c.,  &c. 
One  resolved  to  forsake  the  counting-house;  the  other 
resolved  to  forsake  the  law;  thereby  clearly  evincing  that  the 
heart  of  neither  was  engaged  in  the  pursuit  for  which  he 
had  been  destined — a  fact  which,  perhaps,  it  would  have  been 
better  if  their  parents  could  have  ascertained,  ere  they  had 

"  Bound  them  to  that  oar, 
Which  thousands,  once  lash'd  fast  to,  quit  no  more." 

When  the  bargain  was  concluded  between  young  Charles 
and  his  new  ally,  he  politely  asked  him  to  stay  and  dine  with 
him.  "  Excuse  the  liberty  I  take" — and  he  rang  the  bell, 
which  was  immediately  answered  by  a  footman.  Dinner  was 
ordered,  and  a  wondering  clerk  despatched  to  his  no  less 
wondering  bankers,  with  the  sum  of  one  hundred  thousand 
pounds,  and  a  verbal  message,  that  he  had  received  their  note, 
and  should  not  trouble  them  for  the  "  discounts"  mentioned 
yesterday.  A  dinner,  tete-a-tete,  passed  off  delightfully 
between  the  new  acquaintances.  The  gentleman  in  black 
drank  his  wine  freely;  and,  bottle  after  bottle  of  the  old 
supernaculum  appeared  and  disappeared  with  marvellous 
celerity.  Charles  talked  of  what  he  would  do,  and  where  he 
would  go;  and  how  he  would  astonish  the  natives,  and 
purchase  an  estate  in  the  country,  and  buy  himself  into 
parliament;  whereat  the  dark  gentleman  gave  a  singular 
proof  of  his  satisfaction,  which,  had  it  not  been  that  "  wine 
worketh  wonders,"  would  probably  have  broken  up  their 
party. 

"  What  is  that  moving  and  rustling  about  behind  you, 
under  your  cloak?"  exclaimed  Charles,  gazing  stupidly,  as  a 
drunken  man  often  does  when  staring  at  something  going  on 
before  him  which  he  cannot  exactly  understand. 

"  Oh !  it's  only  my  tail,  which  I'm  wagging,"  replied 
his  guest;  "  it's  a  way  we  have,  whenever  we  are  very  much 
pleased." 

"  Oho!  'old  gentleman!"   observed   Charles,   "then  you 


THE    GENTLEMAN    IN    BLACK.  13 

enjoy  yourself,  eh?  you  take  my  jokes,  eh?  you're  a  bit  of  a 
wag,"  eh?" 

"  Yes,"  drily  replied  his  companion,  "  I  was;  my  tail." 

"  It's  monstrously  droll,"  added  Charles,  hiccupping;  "  but 
the  fact  is,  my  comical,  old  Mr.  What-d'ye-call-em,  we  have 
many  ways,  almost  as  whimsical,  among  ourselves." 

"  If  you  object  to  my  custom"-- said  the  gentleman  of 

the  black  rustling  cloak,  bowing  politely — 

"  Oh,  by  no  means,"  replied  Charles,  "  sport  your  opossum 
as  you  please;  only,  none  of  your  long  t-a-1-e-s.  Ha!  ha! 
A  devilish  pleasant  conceit !  is  it  not,  old  boy?  come,  fill  your 
glass.  I  always  hated  long  stories;  don't  you?" 

"  Why,  not  precisely  so,"  answered  the  other,  filling  his 
glass;  "  for  the  fact  is,  that  I  invented  them." 

About  this  time  it  was,  that  Charles's  speech  began  to 
announce  that  he  was  "  overtaken;"  and  he  never  could 
remember  how  or  when  he  and  his  sable  ally  parted. 
Something  there  was  floating  in  his  recollection  next  morning, 
about  having  been  in  the  streets,  and  of  a  row;  and  a  sort  of 
a  mill;  but  the  particulars  he  could  not  recall.  The  black 
smelling-bottle,  in  the  black  ebony  case,  instantly  dispersed 
the  unpleasant  effects  of  his  late  debauch;  but  it  was  not 
intended  to  enable  him  to  reflect  clearly  on  the  past. 

The  next  morning  he  paced  his  room,  after  breakfast, 
endeavouring  to  settle  within  his  own  mind  some  plan  of 
operation,  by  which  he  might  reap  the  most  perfect  enjoy- 
ment from  the  golden  harvest  before  him.  From  this  revery 
he  was  aroused  by  the  entrance  of  his  late  father's  confi- 
dential clerk,  with  an  arm-full  and  a  bag-full  of  papers. 
Charles  noticed  the  honest  anxiety  expressed  in  his  counte- 
nance, and  at  once  resolved  to  make  him  happy. 

"  Take  a  seat,  Mr.  Ledger,"  said  he;  "I  wished  to  see  you 
on  business." 

"  Indeed,  sir!"  ejaculated  the  astonished  clerk. 

"  Yes,  indeed !"  repeated  Charles,  seating  himself  at  the 
table,  "  for  I'm  off  to  Melton  in  an  hour." 

"  My  dear  sir,"  said  Mr.  Ledger,  imploringly,  "  let  me 
entreat  you.  The  supply  you  obtained  yesterday  was  most 
providential.  I  am  delighted  that  you  ha\e  yet  such  friends 
left:  but  it  must  be  repaid,  and  the  concerns  of  the  house  are, 
I  am  sorry  to  say" 

"  Confound  the  concerns  of  the  house !"  exclaimed  Charles. 

"  What  do  I  hear?"  ejaculated  Ledger;  "  alas!  alas!  my 
dear  sir,  they  are  already  confounded.  And  yet,  if  we 
c 


l\  THE    GENTLEMAN    IN    BLACK. 

cokJd  but  obtain  assistance  for  a  few  months  only,  and  you 
wojld  leave  off  drawing  such  heavy  bills  on  your  private 
account" 

"  What,  then,"  asked  Charles,  "  do  you  really  think  such 
a  beggarly  concern  worth  carrying  on?" 

"  Beggarly,  sir!"  said  Ledger,  rising  from  his  seat,  and  all 
the  blood  in  his  body  apparently  rushing  to  his  face;  "  sir!  if 

any  other  person  had  dared ;  but  you  are  his  son 

Oh!  that  I  should  live  to  see  the  day!  My  poor  dear  master! 
no  man  named  him  but  with  respect. 

Here  the  poor  fellow  was  utterly  overpowered,  and, 
sinking,  exhausted,  on  the  chair,  sobbed  like  a  child.  Charles 
caught  the  infection,  and  looked  at  his  father's  humble 
friend,  with  feelings  far  different  from  those  which  the  money 
now  at  his  command  was  intended  by  the  donor  to  produce. 
He  certainly  was  not,  at  that  moment,  committing  his  stipu- 
lated quantum  of  sin. 

"  Mr.  Ledger,"  said  he,  at  length.  "  I  most  earnestly 
entreat  your  pardon  for  having  trifled  with  your  feelings;  but 
the  fact  is,  I  have  made  up  my  mind" 

"  Oh,  don't  say  so,  my  dear  sir,"  said  the  clerk,  interrupt- 
ing him,  from  dread  of  the  termination  of  his  sentence: 
"just  look  over  these  papers — and,  if  the  loan  you  obtained 
so  miraculously  can  be  continued  but  for  a  few  months,  and  you 
will  only — in  moderation — sir — pray  don't  take  my  freedom 
amiss — we  may  still  go  on — and  the  profits  are — have  been — 
will  be,  I  pledge  my  word — ample — more  than  sufficient  for 
all  «hat  any  gentleman  could — that  is,  ought — don't  be 
offended,  I  entreat  you,  sir." 

"  Not  I,"  replied  Charles;  "  I'm  glad  to  hear  you  give'so 
good  an  account  of  the  concern,  as  you  call  it.  For  my  own 
part,  it  is  no  concern  of  mine  now.  If  you  think  it  worth 
your  acceptance,  take  it  and  welcome.  As  for  me,  thank 
God — no — I  don't  exactly  mean  that — but  the  fact  is,  I  can 
do  very  well  without  it." 

Poor  Ledger's  eyes  and  mouth  were  wide  open,  though  he 
doubted  much  if  that  could  be  case  with  his  ears:  but  the 
reader  shall  not  be  troubled  with  an  attempt  to  describe  his 
feelings.  Suffice  it  to  say,  that  he  would  not  accept  more 
than  a  small  share  of  the  profits,  the  remainder  to  be  duly 
carried  to  the  credit  side  of  his  young  master's  account  in  the 
"  private  ledger."  As  a  matter  of  course,  he  was  to  manage 
the  whole  affair  as  he  thought  fit;  and,  as  a  matter  of  course 
with  Charles  Maxwell,  he  troubled  him  not  with  any  more 


THE    GENTLEMAN    IN    BLACK.  15 

large  drafts,  nor  asked  for  a  farthing1  of  the  profits;  all  which 
surprised  and  perplexed  Mr.  Ledger,  who  endeavoured  to 
accoui't  for  the  circumstance,  liy  supposing  that  the  young 
man  had  discovered  some  stock  which  his  late  father  had 
privately  invested,  or  that  some  mining'  shares,  which  had 
been  put  by  as  worthless,  had  turned  up  trumps;  or  that  he 
had  got  a  prize  in  the  lottery,  or — in  short  he  could  not 
exactly  make  it  out.  So  he  dipped  his  pen  in  the  inkstand, 
and  stuck  to  his  desk;  consoling  himself  with  the  reflection, 
that  he  was  preparing  a  haven  in  wnich  his  young  master 
and  benefactor  might  find  shelter,  whenever  he  should  be 
driven  in  by  the  storm. 

It  has  been  already  stated,  that  Charles  Maxwell  was  in 
love,  and  stated  too  upon  his  own  authority.  He  said  so,  he 
thought  so — and  yet,  when  riches  poured  in  upon  him  as  a 
flood,  he  went  to  Melton  first — then  came  to  London,  and 

Ran  each  extreme  of  folly  through, 
And  lived  with  half  the  town, 

yet  never  allowed  his  mind  to  dwell  upon  the  charms  of 
Clara  Haultaught,  the  old  Admiral's  daughter,  with  whom 
he  had  danced  and  fallen  in  love,  all  in  the  regular  way,  at  a 
Leicester  "  county"  ball.  The  f-ict  is,  he  had  no  time,  for 
men  of  pleasure  never  have,  "  provided  always,"  as  the 
lawyers  have  it,  that  they  are  provided  always  with  money 
and  health.  When  either  of  these  fall  short,  your  mere  men 
of  pleasure  are  sad  twaddlers,  and  have  time  enough  to 
weary  themselves  and  their  friends  by  all  manner  of 
wearisome  ways,  and  ill-supported  pretensions.  Which 
position,  should  any  reader  doubt,  let  him  go  to  Bath  and 
learn  wisdom. 

To  travel  abroad  gives  a  man  an  air,  say  some  folks;  and 
Charles  Maxwell  went  off,  therefore,  to  breathe  and  bring 
home  some  foreign  air.  Here  it  may  be  as  well  to  observe, 
by  way  of  avoiding  difficulties  hereafter,  that  -the  time  of 
which  we  write  was  some  year  or  two  before  the  Revolution, 
so  called,  as  the  French  say,  par  excellence,  because  it  was 
the  vilest,  the  most  sanguinary,  and  the  most  fearful  and 
extensive  in  its  consequences,  of  any  on  the  records  of 
either  ancient  or  modern  history.  The  reader  need  scarcely 
be  told  it  is  the  French  revolution  of  1790,  to  which  we 
allude. 

Charles,  of  course,  went  first  to  Paris,  and  there,  almost  of 
course,  became  acquainted  with  Louis  Desonges;  for  it  was 
2 


16  THE    GENTLEMAN    IN    BLACK. 

barely  possible  that  two  young  men,  possessing  the  unlimited 
command  of  money,  however  different  might  be  their  habits, 
should  not  come  into  contact  when  pursuing  some  of  the 
innumerable  follies  and  pleasures  of  that  most  foolish  and 
pleasurable  metropolis. 

When  an  Englishman  is  in  Paris,  whatever  may  be  his 
natural  taste  or  propensity,  he  must  see  everything;  and, 
with  this  laudable  spirit  of  inquiry,  Charles  Maxwell  betook 
himself  to  a  notorious  gambling-house,  though  he  had  not  the 
smallest  taste  for  such  amuse.nents.  Louis  Desonges 
happened  to  be  there  at  the  time,  and  was  interesting  himself 
as  much  in  the  game  as  a  man  could  possibly  do,  to  whom  it 
was  perfectly  immaterial  whether  he  lost  or  won.  The  air 
of  gaiety  and  nonchalance  with  which  he  paid  several  heavy 
losses,  attracted  the  Englishman's  attention,  and,  after  a  few 
minutes,  they  betted  together,  won,  lost,  paid  and  received 
immense  sums,  with  such  utter  carelessness  and  good  humour, 
as  astonished  each  other,  and  made  the  by-standers  im'agine 
that  their  bets  were  fictitious,  and  made  for  some  sinister, 
though  (strange  to  say,  among  Parisian  adepts)  undiscernible 
purpose.  Under  this  impression  all  play  was  at  a  stand; 
and  Charles,  after  exchanging  cards  with  his  new  friend, 
walked  off  with  bills  to  the  amount  of  about  two  million  and 
a  half  of  livres;  that  is,  in  English  money,  about  a  hundred 
thousand  pounds,  leaving  his  antagonist  without  the  smallest 
symptom  of  desespoir,  so  common  to  all,  but  more  par- 
ticularly to  French  gamesters.  The  next  morning  Charles 
felt,  that,  notwithstanding  the  young  Frenchman's  gaiety 
and  admirable  presence  of  mind  the  preceding  night,  the  loss 
of  such  a  sum  must  be  his  utter  ruin;  and,  therefore,  with 
the  most  philanthropic  injention  of  restoring  his  winnings  by 
making  some  foolish  bet,  he  ordered  his  coachman  to  drive 
to  the  Rue  de  1'Universite,  where  he  found  the  young 
gambler  at  home,  in  his  own  most  splendid  hotel.  The 
whole  affair — lamps — silken  curtains,  sofas,  and  chairs — the 
silken  silence  of  the  servants — statues — paintings — books  in 
the  most  splendid  bindings  ranged  in  battalia,  while  some 
half  dozen  were  thrown  carelessly  on  the  floor,  like  the  most 
exquisitely  dressed  among  the  brave,  after  an  engagement — 
all — all — breathed  of  wealth.  "  Good  Heavens!"  exclaimed 
Charles,  "  and  /,  for  the  gratification  of  a  mere  whim — for 
1  have  not  the  excuse  of  other  men — have  perhaps  destroyed 
this  young  man's  happiness  for  ever — his  father's  grey  hairs — 
his  poor  portionless  sisters — thrown,  like  young  unfledged 


THE    GENTLEMAN     IN    BLACK.  17 

birds,  from  the  genial  warmth  of  their  parent's  downy  nest, 
upon  the  sharp  rocks  of  this  world,  while  the  bleak  winds  of 
adversity" 

The  entrance  of  Louis  Desonges  here  saved  him  the 
trouble  of  completing  his  picture.  Not  a  vestige  of  noc- 
turnal, involuntary  vigilance,  shaded  his  handsome  and 
intelligent  countenance.  His  eye  sparkled  with  pleasure  at 
the  sight  of  his  new  acquaintance,  but  it  was  unclouded  by 
the  unsteady  brow  that  rises  and  falls,  and  will  tell,  as  if  in 
spite  of  its  owner,  how  the  gamester's  heart  throbs,  and 
warms,  and  grows  cold.  The  fact  was,  Louis  saw  before 
him  a  rich  young  Englishman — a  character  with  which  he  had 
long  wished  to  be  acquainted;  but,  from  their  habitual 
reserve,  (such,  be  it  remembered,  was  then  our  national 
character,)  had  ever  been  foiled  in  the  attempt.  He  rushed 
across  the  room,  and  warmly  shook  Charles  by  the  hand. 

"  He  estimates  my  motive  for  coming,"  thought  the  latter; 
"  'tis  well!" 

"  Have  you  breakfasted,  so  early?"  asked  Louis,  gaily. 

"  No,  ray  good  sir,"  was  the  reply;  "  the  fact  is.  that  my 
mind  was  somewhat  uneasy  about  the  affair  of  last  night. 
You  excuse  my  bluntness,  I  trust,  but  we  English" 

"  Are  strange  fellows;  I've  always  understood  so.  I  want 
to  see  more  of  you; — allons  d  dejeuner! — Hoi  Auguste! 
Roderique! — Who  waits  there? — Is  breakfast  ready?" 

Our  heroes  were  ushered,  by  a  petit-maitre  out  of  livery, 
through  a  suite  of  rooms,  adorned  with  an  inattention  to 
expense,  truly  wonderful,  until  they  arrived  at  a  saloon, 
opening  into  a  garden,  from  whence  the  perfumed  air,  and 
the  light  of  heaven,  were  scientifically  allowed  admittance 
through  verandas,  Venetian  blinds,  lace  and  muslin  curtains, 
&c.  &c.  In  brief,  all  was  superbe  et  magnifique. 

"  Are  you  yet  Frenchman  enough  to  take  our  light 
wines  at  breakfast?"  asked  Louis,  as  soon  as  they  were 
seated. 

"  When  we  are  at  Rome" replied  Charles. 

"  Precisely  so,"  said  Louis;  "  it's  my  way." 

"  He  has  not  lost  his  appetite,"  thought  Charles. 

"  You  don't  eat,  my  dear  sir,"  observed  Louis; — "  allow 

me my  cook  is  generally  thought  to  excel.  Are  these 

kidneys  in  Champagne,  Pierre?" 

"  Out,  Monsieur!"  replied  a  powdered  lackey,  making  a 
low  obeisance.  Louis  recommended,  and  Charles  ate;  a^H 
Charles  recommended,  and  Louis  drank;  neither  caring 
c2 


18  THE    GENTLEMAN    IN    BLACK. 

about  their  health,  which  was  secured  to  them  by  their 
mutual  friend;  and  each  possessing,  unknown  to  the  other,  a 
wonderful  black  cut-glass  bottle,  in  a  black  ebony  case. 
Charles's  motive  was  to  make  the  young  Frenchman  drunk, 
and  then  to  return  him  his  money,  and  make  him  believe  he 
had  won  it:  while  Louis,  having  now  caught  a  rich  young 
Englishman  in  his  own  house,  was  determined  to  understand 
the  real  character  of  the  nation  to  which  he  belonsed;  and, 
imprimis,  to  ascertain  how  much  one  of  them  could  eat  and 
drink  at  a  dejeune  a  la  fourchette. 

The  champagne  sparkled  and  disappeared,  and  Charles 
found  courage  to  allude  to  the  affair  of  the  preceding  evening. 
Louis  smiled,  and  said  it  was  nothing. 

"  Pardon  me,  my  dear  sir,"  observed  Charles,  drawing 
his  chair  closer;  "  such  a  sum  must  be  something  to  any- 
body." 

"  Don't  mention  it,"  said  Louis;  "  I  shall  never  miss  it; 
and  am  glad  it  has  fallen  into  such  hands  as  your's." 

"  I'll  bet  you  double  the  sum,  it's  more  than  you  are  now 
worth  in  the  world,"  said  Charles,  bluntly,  after  swallowing  a 
half-pint  bumper. 

"  Done!"  exclaimed  Louis. 

"  Done!"  replied  Charles.  The  servants  were  ordered 
out  of  the  room;  and  Louis,  going1  to  a.  secretaire,  which  stood 
in  a  recess,  returned  immediately,  and  threw  more  than  the 
needful  amount  upon  the  table.  Charles  was  astonished,  and 
was  about  to  pay,  when  a  sudden  thought  struck  him,  and  he 
hesitated. 

"  Never  mind,"  said  Louis,  "  pay  me  when  you  like;  or 
never:  it  is  of  DO  consequence." 

"  On  honour,  let  me  ask,"  said  Charles,  "  is  that  pile  of 
gold  your  own  ?" 

"  It  is,"  replied  Louis;  "  I  have  made  it  a  rule  never  to 
feel  offended  at  any  remarks  a  loser  may  make.  There's 
my  hand,  and  my  honour  pledged.  Few  can  bear  to 
lose  so  well  as  I  can.  Indeed,  it  would  be  strange  if  they 
could." 

"  Then  it  only  remains  for  me  to  pay,"  observed  Charles, 
calmly;  and  he  took  out  his  black  morocco  leather  pocket- 
book  for  that  purpose,  while  Louis  replaced  the  money 
which  he  had  taken  from  the  secretaire,  and  brought  from 
thence  a  certain  specific  for  the  dizziness  which  he  found 
collecting  in  his  head. 

"  I  believe  vou'll  find  all  right,"  said  Charles. 


THE    GENTLEMAN    IN    BLACK.  19 

"  No  doubt,"  replied  the  other,  carelessly;  "  but  I'd  rather 
you  should  have  won,  by  Saint  Louis!"  He  then  thought 
within  himself — "  I've  heard  much  of  English  riches  and 
prodigality,  but  this  surpasses  all  I  could  have  imagined:" 
and  he  applied  the -nostrum  to  his  nose. 

What  do  I  see?"  cried  Charles,  feeling  that  his  own  lay- 
safely  at  the  bottom  of  his  pocket.  "  Where  did  you  get 
that  bottle?" 

"  It  was  given  to  me  bv  a a friend.     I'll  bet  you 

double  that  sum  upon  the*  table,  that  there  is  not  it's  fellow 
in  France."  "  Done,"  and  "  Done,"  said  each;  and  Charles 
produced  his  black  bottle.  They  were  examined,  compared, 
and  smelt  to. 

"  I  have  lost,"  said  Louis;  "  it's  very  odd ;"  and  went  again 
to  the  inexhaustible  escretoire  for  payment.  Charles  rolled 
the  mass  of  papers  together,  and  squeezed  them  into  the  black 
morocco  pocket-book  aforesaid,  which  caught  the  eye  of 
Louis,  and  caused  him,  in  his  turn,  to  exclaim,  "  Where  did 
you  get  that  black  morocco  book?" 

"  Where  I  got  this  black  elastic  silk  purse,"  replied 
Charles;  beginning  to  haul  out  his  riches,  as  sailors  do  a 
cable.  The  secret  was  out.  The  two  unfortunate  young 
men  snuffed  up  the  contents  of  their  two  black  cut-glass 
bottles,  in  two  black  ebony  cases,  till  their  heads  were  cleared 
from  the  effects  of  the  wine,  and  then  sat  themselves  down 
to  compare  notes,  and  swear  an  everlasting  friendship. 

"  Do  you  know  what  to  do  with  that  money  on  the 
table?"  asked  Louis,  as  they  were  going  out;  "  you  know 
that  was  no  part  of  your  compact,  and,  consequently,  will 
not  vanish  at  night,  as  that  which  is  left  out  of  what  we  demand 
during  the  day  always  does.  That  sum  you  won  from  me; 
and,  when  it  changes  hands,  you  know" 

"  A  good  idea!"  exclaimed  Charles;  "  it's  the  only  money 
I  ever  won  at  play,  and  I  didn't  consider  the  difference.  I 
see  no  reason  why  we  should  spare  our  dark  acquaintance. 
Let  me  see! — Oh!  I  have  it.  Excuse  me,  I'll  only  write  a 
few  lines,  and  send  off  the  packet  directly.''  Accordingly,  he 
indicted  the  first  letter  of  business  with  which  he  had 
ever  troubled  Mr.  Ledger,  and  enclosed  therein  nearly  rive 
hundred  thousand  pounds  sterling. 


20  THE    GENTLEMAN    IN     BLACK. 


CHAPTER  II. 

AT  the  moment  when  Charles  had  folded  up  the  Icttor  to 
Mr.  Ledger,  a  servant  in  livery  opened  the  door,  and  stood 
respectfully  bowing:,  as  though  waiting  his  master's  commands. 

"  What  the  devil  brings  you  here?"  asked  Louis. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,' sir,"  said  the  man,  bending  almost 
to  the  ground,  "  I  thought  you  rang." 

"  Not  I,"  replied  Louis,  "  so  take  yourself  off." 

"  Perhaps,"  observed  the  party-coloured  gentleman,  as 
he  sidled  obsequiously  towards  Charles,  "  Monsieur  might 
have" • 

"  Oh,  ah!  very  true,"  Charles  observed,  carelessly;  "with 
your  leave,  my  dear  sir,  I'll  get  your  man  to  take  this  letter 
to  the  post." 

The  footman  bowed,  and  was  in  the  act  of  receiving  the 
letter  from  Charles,  when  Louis  suddenly  started  up,  and 
knocked  it  out  of  his  hand,  exclaiming,  "  You  abominable 
old  rascal!  Take  up  the  letter,  Maxwell,  and  put  it 
into  your  pocket.  And  now,  look  at  this  long-tailed,  peri- 
wigged, powdered  fellow,  and  say  if  you  have  ever  seen  him 
before." 

Charles  instantly  recognized  his  friend,  autrefois  in  black, 
and  joined  Louis  in  violent  invectives  against  such  sneaking, 
unhandsome,  ungentlpman-like  conduct;  whereat  the  afore- 
said gentleman  declared  that  he  considered  himself  extremely 
ill-used  by  the  appropriation  of  such  a  sum  to  the  service  of 
Mr.  Ledger,  a  person  with  whom  he  had  no  sort  of  acquaint- 
ance or  concern.  The  young  friends  were,  however,  too 
much  elated  at  the  idea  of  having  outwitted  the  old  fellow, 
to  give  way  an  inch;  and  he,  unwilling  to  quarrel  with  two 
such  promising  youths,  forbore  to  press  the  matter.  They, 
therefore,  sat  down  together  in  friendly  chat;  and  he  ex- 
pressed a  hope  that  their  wishes  had  been  complied  with,  and 
that  all  had  gone  on  pleasantly,  and  according  to  the  strict 
letter  of  the  compact.  "  If  not,"  he  continued,  "  let  me 
know,  now  I  am  here,  and  I  will  see  to  it — as  my  servants 
do  not  always  act  precisely  as  1  could  wish,  during  my 
absence." 

"  Then  they  are  somewhat  like  ours,"  said  Louis;  "there's 
always  something  left  undone  about  my  place,  though  I  keep 
so  many  that  I  don't  know  the  faces  of  half  of  them. 


THE    GENTLEMAN    IN    BLACK.  21 

It's  the  greatest  wonder  in  the  world  that  I  looked  at 
yours." 

"  You  cannot  keep  too  many,"  replied  the  middle-aged 
gentleman;  "  I  like  people  to  keep  plenty  of  livery  servants; 
let  them  live  well,  have  high  wages,  and  but  little  to  do. 
That's  the  proper  style,  sir,  for  me;  I" 

"  By  the  way,"  said  Louis,  "  talking  of  livery  servants — 
let  me  tell  you,  that  1  do  not  think  it  is  altogether  decorous 
for  you  to  be  sitting  here,  talking  to  two  gentlemen,  in  such  a 
dress  as  you  now  wear." 

"  Precisely  so,"  replied  the  old  gentleman;  "  as  you  justly 

observe,  it  is  hardly  correct,  and  so" and,  rising  up,  he 

stood  awhile  upon  one  leg,  and  began  to  move  round 
thereon,  in  a  sort  of  pirouette,  first  slowly,  and  then  gradually 
increasing  in  velocity,  until  no  part  of  the  man  was  com- 
pletely visible:  then,  the  spinning  as  gradually  subsided,  till, 
by  degrees,  there  appeared,  to  the  wondering  friends,  the 
identical  black  Geneva  cloak,  black  bag,  coat,  waistcoat,  &c., 
&c.,  which  had  formerly  rivetted  their  attention:  and,  forth- 
with, their  sable  friend  sprang  over  the  back  of  a  chair,  and 
seated  himself  therein,  with  the  most  perfect  and  gentlemanly 
nonchalance. 

"  Bravo!  bravo!  well  done,  old  boy!"  exclaimed  Louis. 
"  I  wish  you'd  give  some  of  our  opera  dancers  a  lesson." 

"  I  have,"  replied  the  gentleman  in  black. 

"  Good,"  said  Charles;  "  1  believe  you.  But  you  must 
oe  fatigued  after  your  exertion;  won't  you  take  some  refresh- 
ment?" 

"  With  much  pleasure,"  answered  he  of  the  sables.  "  Come," 
and  he  helped  himself  to  a  half-pint  bumper  of  champagne, 
"  let  us  take  a  friendly  glass  together.  This  buries  all 
animosities.  I  couldn't  help  feeling  a  little  sore  at  the  idea 
of  a  man  of  business — a  plodding,  humdrum  sort  of  fellow, 
having  that  mone\  ;  I  like  your  idle,  careless,  negligent,  or 
dashing  sort  of  fellows  best.  But  never  mind;  perhaps  it 
may  lead  him  to  speculate.  Allow  me — you  don't  help 
yourself— there — I  like  your  English  fashion  of  drinking  best. 
Come,  sir,  the  bottle  stands  with  you." 

u  What  in  the  world  are  you  thinking  about?"  said  Charles; 
"  it  is  scarcely  one  o'clock!  Nobody  thinks  of  drinking  at 
such  an  hour." 

"  What  signifies  what  other  people  think?"  replied  the 
gentleman  of  the  black  bottle;  "  I  am  particularly  partial  to 


22  THE    GENTLEMAN    IS    BLACK. 

the  custom  of  drinking  early  in  the  day.  Nothing  can  \>e 
more  ridiculous  than  the  present  fashion  of  fasting  all  day, 
and  then  (lining  at  what  used  ti>  be  the  cheerful  supper  hour. 
Pshaw!  You  take  about  half  a  dozen  glasses  of  wine;  and 
then,  just  at  the  instant  you  begin  to  enjoy  yourself,  coffee  is 
announced,  and  you  creep  oft  to  bed.  Now,  my  dear  sir — 
but  come,  till  your  g!as.-es  mv  dear  fellows!  Just,  for  once, 
oblige  me.  1  am  really  excessively  thirsty;  and,  on  honour, 
M.  Le  Baron,  considering  that  1  am  now  your  guest,  and 
that  your  country  fashions  are  not  decidedly  against  the 
custom;  and,  moreover,  as  French  fjolitesse  is  proverbial 
among  all  the  nations  of  the  earth,  1  trust  you  will  not 
object." 

"  Excellent! v  urged,"  observed  Charles  Maxwell,  who 
began  somewhat  to  enjoy  the  whim  of  the  thing;  "  allons, 
my  dear  friend,  allow  the  old  fellow  to  indulge  his  odd 
humours  for  once.  It  can't  be  of  much  consequence. 
What  need  we  to  care  for  appearances,  and  what  other 
people  think'"" 

"  Truly,"  replied  Louis,  "  I  know  not  why,  indeed." 
"  Then,  sir,"  said  the  gentleman  in  black,  who  now 
assumed  a  generalship  over  a  range  of  black  bottles  which 
he  had  summoned  into  the  room,  "  we  will  begin  our  sitting. 
In  the  first  place,  1  beg  to  observe  that,  as  wine  makes  a 
man  happy,  the  earlier  he  begins  to  drink  after  he  rises,  the 
more  happiness  falls  to  his  lot,  as  he  has  then  all  the  day 
before  him,  to  be  enjoyed  in  high  spirits,  and  an  utter  eman- 
cipation from  care,  and  that  abominable  nuisance,  called 
thought.  So  here  goes!  my  dear  boys.  Excuse  me — empty 
your  glass — I'm  a  great  stickler  for  forms  iu  drinking.  No 
day-light  in  the  first  instance,  and  no  heel-taps  in  the  second. 
That's  my  way.  Hem !  Perhaps  I  may  have  seemed  some- 
what prolix  on  this  occasion;  but,  the  fact  is,  I  cannot  endure 
to  see  a  man  pass  the  bottle.  It  is,  in  my  opinion,  the  acme, 
or  rather,  perhaps,  the  bathos  of  low  and  ill  breeding.  If 
there  be  anything  more  ungentlemanlike,  it  is  the  conduct  of 
a  president  who  suffers  anything  of  the  sort,  without  indicting 
bumper  fines." 

"  Upon  my  word,  sir,"  said  Charles,  "  you  are  become  very 
arbitrary." 

"  Perhaps  it  may  appear  so,"  replied  the  gentleman  in 
clack;  '•  at  all  events,  1  have  talked  more  than  is  my  wont. 
But  I  hope  never  to  see  the  day  when  it  shall  be  considered 


THE    GENTLEMAN    IN    BLACK.  23 

rude  to  press  a  gentleman  to  take  his  wine.  Monsieur  De- 
songes,  the  bottle  stands  with  you,  and  you  are  wanted. 
What  in  the  world  are  you  thinking  about?" 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  gentlemen!"  exclaimed  Louis,  "  I  was 
up  late  last  night,  and  really" 

"  Pshaw!"  said  the  gentleman  in  black,  "you  are  half 
asleep — here — take  a  pinch  of  my  genuine — it  will  rouse 
you;"  then,  handing  his  blackguard  to  the  Frenchman,  he 
whispered  in  Charles's  ear,  "  These  Monsieurs  are  poor 
creatures,  when  compared  with  you  English.  And  then 
their  wines — what  are  they?  The  flavour  is  very  well,  to 
be  sure:  but,  by  all  that's  dusky!  one  might  drink  a  hogs- 
head, for  any  effect  it  would  have  on  such  heads  as  your's  and 
mine.  No,  iny  dear  sir,*  there's  nothing  like  your  English 
port,  black  and  strong — eh?" 

"  I  don't  like  that  snuff,"  said  Louis,  returning  the  box; 
"  blackguard  does  not  exactly  suit  me." 

"  Then  try  this,"  quoth  he  of  the  black  Geneva  cloak, 
taking  from  his  pocket  a  curiously  carved  "  sneezer,"  made 
from  Vesuvian  lava.  "  It  is  a  mixture  which  I  have  lately 
introduced,  and  which  appears  likely  to  become  a  favourite 
among  your  rising  men,  though  the  old  courtiers  think  it 
somewhat  too  strong." 

Louis,  after  a  violent  fit  of  sneezing,  exclaimed,  "  Strong 
indeed!" 

"  It  seems  well  calculated,"  observed  Charles,  "  to  prevent 
a  man  from  going  to  sleep." 

"  Precisely  so,"  replied  the  gentleman  in  black;  "  it  is  a 
mixture  of  Paris  black  rappee  and  hellebore,  and  just  now  in 
great  request  among  the  deputies  here." 

The  trio  now  "  set  in"  for  a  regular  drinking-bout,  in 
which  it  is  almost  unnecessary  to  say,  the  gentleman  in  black 
was  too  much  for  the  two  young  men.  As  usual  on  such 
occasions,  they  came  to  high  words,  and  Charles  flatly  accused 
*.he  president  of  a  breach  of  promise. 

"  It  is  of  no  use  to  contradict  me,"  said  he;  "  I  remember 
your  words  as  plainly  as  possible — as  though  it  were  but 
yesterday.  We  were  taking  our  wine  after  dinner,  when  you 
dined  with  me  in  the  City,  and  you  appeared  highly  pleased 
with  the  flavour  of  a  bin  which  I  called  my  supernaculum; 
and  you  promised,  I'll  take  my  oath  of  it!" 

"  I  bog  you  will  do  nothing  of  the  sort,"  ejaculated  the 
gentleman  in  black;  "  I  particularly  object  to  such  customs — 
besides,  among  gentlemen,  they  cannot  be  necessary  And, 


24  THE    GENTLEMAN    IN    BLACK. 

now  I  think  of  it,  I  seem  to  have  some  faint  recollection — • 
but,  you  know,  we  took  a  great  deal  of  wine  that  day,  and, 

perhaps but,  I  beg  your  pardon,  the  bottle  stands  with 

you." 

"  I  see  your  drift,''  said  Charles,  filling  his  glass  boldly, 
"  but  allow  me  to  tell  you,  old  boy,  that,  if  we  were  to  sit 
here  from  this  time  till  to-morrow,  I'll  not  be  driven  from  the 
point.  You  did,  then  and  there,  faithfully  promise  me,  that 
one  bin  in  my  cellar  should  always  be  filled  with  that  iden- 
tical sort  of  wine." 

"  Sir,"  replied  the  gentleman  in  black,  "  1  now  perfectly 
recollect  the  circumstance,  and  feel  perfectly  astonished  at 
your  having  any  cause  of  complaint,  as  I  gave  the  necessary 
orders  to  a  London  wine-merchant,  with  whom  I  have  long 
been  on  terms  of  intimacy.  Our  transactions  together  have 
been  numerous,  and  generally  conducted  in  a  manner  perfectly 
satisfactory  to  both  parties." 

"  My  dear  sir,"  said  Charles,  "  the  wine  was  no  more 
like  my  old  supernaculum,  than  you  are  like  my  grand- 
mother." 

"  Bah!"  replied  the  gentleman  in  black,  "  was  vour  wine 
old?" 

"  Certainly  it  was,"  Charles  ans\vered,  "very  old;  I  know 
not  how  old;  and,  yet,  full  of  body  and  flavour; — you  must 
remember  it." 

"  Then,  sir,"  calmly  observed  the  gentleman  in  black,  "  the 
case  is  completely  altered,  and  you  have  no  right  to  com- 
plain. The  bin,  it  seems,  has  been  filled  according  to  agree- 
ment. But  you,  rny  dear  sir,  as  an  Englishman  and  a  wine- 
drinker — the  bottle  stands  with  you — you  must  be  perfectly 
aware  that  it  is  utterly  out  of  even  my  power,  to  make  new 
wine  taste  like  old." 

Somewhat  of  the  same  sort  was  urigallantly  said  by  the 
gentleman  in  black,  respecting  the  knowledge  of  ladies' 
minds  and  tastes,  when  defending  himself  against  a  charge 
made  by  Louis,  concerning  the  non-fulfilment  of  some  pro- 
mises, made  to  him,  of  success  in  certain  adventures  of  the 
heart.  Our  two  heroes,  indeed,  could  not  fail  to  observe, 
that  there  was  a  peculiar  acerbity  and  testiness  about  their 
elderly  friend,  whenever  ladies  were  the  topic  of  conver- 
sation. They,  therefore,  purposely  introduced  the  subject  of 
matrimony;  whereupon  his  saturnine  complexion  assumed  a 
hue  many  degrees  dingier  than  usual.  He  uttered  a  violent 
philippic  against  the  married  life  in  general,  and  then  went 


TH£    GENTLEMAN    IN    BLACK.  25 

into  a  lamentation  concerning  the  extreme  folly  of  certain 
of  his  own  friends  in  particular,  who,  instead  of  enjoying 
themselves  and  the  various  pleasures  which  had  previously 
been  at  their  disposal,  had  foolishly  become  heads  of  families; 
"  and  now,"  he  continued,  "  they  live  in  the  most  miserable 
hum-drum  way  you  can  conceive,  canting  about  virtue,  and 
domestic  duties,  and  such  nonsense.  I  assure  you  the 
circumstance  gives  me  an  infinite  deal  of  uneasiness.  I  have 
represented  the  thing  to  your  Chambers  here,  and  have  some 
hopes — but,  I  beg  your  pardon,  the  bottle  stands  with  you — 
I  have  some  hopes  that  the  detestable  rite  will  be  abolished 
in  this  country.  Nothing  can  be  more  ridiculous  and  tyran- 
nical than  that,  because  two  people  happen  to  like  each  other 
at  any  particular  period,  they  should,  therefore,  be  compelled 
to  spend  all  their  lives  together.  It  is  really  the  height  of 
absurdity." 

"  Let  us  talk  of  something  else,"  said  Charles,  whose 
thoughts  were  wandering  into  Leicestershire. 

"  Pray,  old  Monsieur  Vaubrien,"  hiccuped  Louis,  "  were 
you  ever  in  love?" 

"  Bah!"  exclaimed  the  gentleman  in  black,  "  what  does 
that  signify?  I  was  never  married,  I  can  tell  you  that. 
Hem !  The  bottle  stands  with  you." 

"  And  the  question  stands  with  yon,"  observed  Charles; 
"  what  objection  can  you  possibly  have  to  answering  it  ?  Do 
you  think  it  probable  that  either  my  friend  or  I  should 
attempt  to  rival  you,  or  fall  in  love  with  any  chere  amie  ot 
yours?" 

"  Nothing  more  likely,"  replied  the  dark  gentleman;  and, 
withal,  a  sardonic  grin,  and  a  certain  twinkling  about  the 
eyes,  gave  a  peculiar  expression  of  vivacity  to  the  speaker's 
countenance,  as  he  continued,  ever  and  anon,  helping  himself 
to  a  pinch  of  blackguard;  "  nothing  is  more  probable. 
But,  my  dear  fellows,  don't  imagine  that  I  can  possibly  be 
jealous.  I  have  not  the  smallest  objection,  I  assure  you — 
nay,  on  the  contrary,  it  would  afford  me  the  greatest 
imaginable  delight,  if  it  were  only  to  see  what  sort  of  figure 
you  would  make.  I  jealous,  indeed! — Ha!  ha!  ha! — I  like 
the  idea  exceedingly! — I  jealous! — Ha!  ha!  ha!"  and  the 
dingy  old  beau  looked  round  him  with  a  most  superb  expres- 
sion of  self-conceit. 

"  Why,  you  abominable  old  hoary  compound  of  vanity!" 
ou'latmed  Louis,  "  you  don't  mean  to  insinuate  that  any 

D 


26  THE    GENTLEMAN    IN    BLACK. 

lady,  to  whom  it  is  likely  that  either  of  us  should  pay  our 
devoirs,  can  possibly  have  admitted  you  as  a  suitor!" 

"  But  indeed,  I  do,"  replied  the  gentleman  in  black,  firmly; 
"  ay,  and  in  this  '  our  good  city  of  Paris,'  too:  and,  let  me 
tell  you,  that  at  this  very  moment  there  are  more  than  one 
or  two  to  whom  my  society  and  conversation  are  more  than 
commonly  agreeable." 

"  Name  them!"  cried  Charles; 

"  Ay,  name,  name!  Let  us  come  to  the  point!"  ejaculated 
Louis. 

"  With  all  my  heart,"  replied  the  black  boaster,  rapping 
his  black  rappee  and  hellebore,  "  I  have  no  nonsensical 
squeamish  objections  on  that  head.  I  hate  a  fellow  that 
hesitates  about  introducing  a  lady's  name  over  a  glass  of 
wine,  among  friends.  Come!  Fill  your  glasses!  Here's  a 
bumper  to  the  lovely,  accomplished,  and  adorable  *  *  *  *" 

"  You  infernal  old  coxcomb!"  exclaimed  Louis. 

"  Precisely  so,"  replied  the  gentleman  in  black. 

"  A  lady  of  her  rank  and  beauty!"  cried  Charles. 

"  Precisely  so,"  vas  again  the  reply.  "  And  now,"  con- 
tinued the  dark  old  reprobate,  "  as  my  presence  is  particu- 
larly necessary  just  now  in  the  Palais  Royal,  and  we  have 
takc-n  precisely  wine  enough,  it  may  be  as  well  to  save  time; 
and  so" 

Here  he  stooped  down,  and  fumbled  awhile  in  his  black 
bag,  which  stood,  as  usual,  between  his  knees. 

"  Ah — hem — yes — there  they  are,"  and  he  threw  a 
score  cards  upon  the  table,  which  were  immediately  seized 
by  the  two  young  men,  who  forthwith  became  excessively 
indignant  at  the  appearance  of  certain  names  thereon. 
But  all  the  reply  they  could  obtain  from  the  gentleman 
in  black  was,  "  Precisely  so;"  after  repeating  which,  some 
half  dozen  times,  he  politely  took  leave,  kicked  his  black 
bag  through  the  window,  and  jumped  after  it  into  the 
garden. 

Now,  as  to  the  names  of  the  ladies  in  question,  we  can 
scarcely  venture  to  give  an  opinion,  because  the  transaction 
occurred  about  the  time  of  the  Revolution,  when  divers,  even 
of  the  fair  sex,  did  enact  certain  parts  which  might  lead  one 
to  suspect  that  they  really  had  permitted  the  occasional  visits 
of  the  gentleman  in  black.  Otherwise  we  should  say  that 
the  whole  were  grossly  slandered;  inasmuch  as  it  hath  come 
to  our  knowledge,  that  the  aforesaid  personage  and  his  friends 


THE    GENTLEMAN    IN    BLACK.  2< 

do  not  scruple  to  traduce  and  speak  familiarly  of  ladies,  of 
whom  they  know  little  or  nothing. 

Our  own  rule,  and  that  which  we  should  recommend  to  all 
our  readers,  is  never  to  give  the  smallest  degree  of  credit  to 
the  inuendoes  of  such  fellows.  We  utterly  disbelieve  and 
despise  all  their  assertions,  in  consequence  of  our  conviction 
that  the  degraded  being,  who  could  be  guilty  of  the  meanness 
of  boasting  of  a  lady's  favour,  would  not  hesitate  at  inventing 
lies.  Assuredly,  such  men  have  been  too  much  in  company 
with  the  gentleman  in  black;  and  we  would  rather  believe 
them  capable  of  the  most  abominable  falsehoods,  than  be 
induced,  by  their  asseverations,  to  doubt,  even  for  a  moment, 
the  propriety  of  any  lady's  conduct. 

We  are  sorry  to  say  that  our  two  heroes  had  not  yet 
attained  the  same  way  of  thinking.  They  read  and  re-read 
the  cards  which  the  dark  old  rake  had  left  upon  the  table; 
and  the  consequence  was,  that,  for  some  months,  they 
remained  in  Paris,  and  sought  for,  and  found  but  too  easily, 
introductions  to  his  particular  friends,  then  residing  in  that 
city. 

Their  first  exploits,  on  the  day  in  question,  were  performed, 
under  the  influence  of  wine,  at  the  Palais  Royal,  where  they, 
apparently  by  accident,  again  encountered  the  gentleman  in 
black,  who  politely  invited  them  to  attend  the  meeting  of  a 
political  club,  at  which  he  was  to  preside  that  evening:  but 
he  did  not  press  them,  being  well  aware  how  extremely 
improbable  it  was  that  men,  who  were  in  pursuit  of  pleasure, 
and  who  had  unbounded  wealth  at  their  command,  would  be 
induced  to  enter  into  any  engagements  likely  to  expose  them 
to  imprisonment  and  more  fatal  consequences.  He  left 
them,  therefore,  to  their  own  desires,  and  was,  by  no  means, 
displeased  with  the  result.  But  it  is  no  part  of  our  intended 
plan  to  enter  into  a  minute  detail  of  scenes  particularly 
agreeable  to  him:  and,  indeed,  if  we  were  disposed  so  to 
employ  our  pen,  it  would  be  a  work  of  supererogation,  seeing 
that  they  are  already  much  too  well  known. 

When  our  heroes  left  Louis's  hotel  in  the  Rue  de 
1'Universite,  the  room  in  which -they  had  held  their  sym- 
posium with  their  sable  acquaintance,  was  immediately  filled 
by  divers  well-dressed  lackeys,  who  expressed  no  small 
surprise  at  the  number  of  empty  bottles  which  were  scattered, 
in  all  directions,,  about  the  floor.  They  had  not  seen  the 
third,  and  probably  the  greatest  drinker  of  the  party;  arid 
Louis's  personal  valet  declared  that  his  master  could  not 


28  THE    GENTLEMAN    IN    BLACK. 

possibly  take  more  than  one  bottle.  They,  of  course,  came 
lo  a  conclusion  that  the  remaining  three  dozen  and  upward 
must  have  been  consumed  by  the  Englishman.  All  were 
struck  with  astonislynent,  except  an  old  gascon,  who  coolly 
took  up  a  snuff-box,  (left,  as  if  by  accident,  by  the  gentleman 
in  black,)  and  remarked,  as  he  gave  it  the  preparatory  tap, 
"  Oh!  three  dozen  is  nothing  for  an  Englishman!  He  will 
take  about  the  same  quantity  again  after  dinner,  and  then 
begin  drinking  brandy  and  water."  He  might  have  said  more, 
but  was  interrupted  by  a  violent  fit  of  sneezing,  at  the  end  of 
which  he  felt  an  irresistible  propensity  to  see  if  there  was  any 
wine  left  upon  the  table.  The  Vesnvian  snnff-box  was 
handed  round,  and  produced  precisely  the  same  effects  on 
all  the  party;  and,  in  less  time  than  the  circumstance  takes  in 
relating,  they  were  seated  round  the  table,  with  a  determi- 
nation of  not  being  outdone  by  an  Englishman.  The  result 
was  precisely  as  the  gentleman  in  black  intended,  when  he 
thought  proper  to  leave  his  black  Paris  rappee  and  hellebore. 
They  settled  the  affairs  of  the  nation  most  luxuriously  among 
themselves  that  evening,  and  were  all  turned  adrift  next 
morning  by  their  master,  in  a  very  fit  state  to  form  members 
of  the  political  club  before  mentioned,  at  which  the  gentle- 
man of  the  black-edged  papers  frequently  presided. 

We  have  related  this  trivial  occurrence,  because  it  may, 
probably,  in  some  degree,  account  for  the  general  mistake 
into  which  the  French  formerly  fell,  relative  to  the  immense 
capacity  of  our  wine-bibbing  countrymen.  We  have  little 
doubt  that,  in  most  cases,  wherein  enormous  quantities 
appeared  to  have  been  consumed  by  one  or  two  individuals, 
the  gentleman  in  black  was  at  their  elbow,  with  his  black 
rappee  and  hellebore,  and  probably  some  of  his  long  tales, 
and  abominable  misrepresentations  of  the  fair  sex. 


CHAPTER  III. 

HAD  it  been  our  lot  to  have  related  the  adventures  of  our 
^leroes  about  the  time  of  their  occurrence,  we  should  willingly 
have  traced  their  progress,  step  by  step,  among  the  lions  of 
Paris,  and  throughout  their  subsequent  continental  tour:  but 
nete,  the  Louvre,  the  Jura,  the  Alps,  Venice,  the  Vatican, 


THE    GENTLEMAN    IN    BLACK.  29 

and  all  the  long  list  of  et  ceteras,  are  "  familiar  in  our  ears 
as  household  words;"  and  the  reader  would  "skip"  through 
the  pages  containing  descriptions  thereof,  as  rapidly  as  the 
modern  traveller  whirls  past,  in,  or  over  the  realities. 

It  was  with  some  difficulty  that  Charles  succeeded  in 
persuading  Louis  to  accompany  him:  for  the  Frenchman  is 
not,  like  the  Englishman,  naturally,  a  travelling  animal. 
Though  he  has  too  much  politeness  to  make  the  affirmation, 
he  is,  generally,  much  of  the  same  way  of  thinking  as  the  old 
Greeks  and  Romans,  who  considered  all  nations  but  their 
own  to  be  barbarians. 

Louis's  consent  was  faintly  given  to  the  plan  of  migration; 
and  some  weeks  had  been  spent  in  delay,  after  their  route 
was  arranged,  when  the  two  friends  were  sitting  together  one 
morning  at  Charley's  Hotel, and  a  servant  entered  to  announce 
a  Mons.  Bourreau,  who  immediately,  and  without  ceremony, 
entered  the  room. 

'£here  was  a  coarseness  and  abrupt  familiarity  about  this 
person,  which,  added  to  his  vulgar  appearance,  excessively 
annoyed  the  two  young  men  of  pleasure.  Charles  politely 
inquired  to  what  cause  he  might  attribute  the  honour  o:'  such 
a  visit. 

"  It  is  no  honour,"  replied  Bourreau;  and  Charles  bowed 
in  acquiescence.  "  My  visit,"  continued  the  other,  "  is, 
perhaps,  correctly  speaking,  to  Mons.  Desonges." 

"  To  me!"  exclaimed  Louis;  "  what  the  devil  can  you 
want  with  me?  some  unpaid  bill,  I  suppose;  you  should  have 
applied  to  my  cook,  or  butler,  or  coachman,  or  whoever 
ordered  the  things  of  you.  I  always  give  them  money- for 
such  purposes,  at  discretion." 

"  Sir,"  replied  the  advocate  of  liberty  and  equality — for 
such  he  was — notwithstanding  his  indignant  feeling  at  being 
mistaken  for  a  tradesman,  "  1  beg  you  to  understand,  sir,  that 
I  did  not  come  here  to  be  insulted." 

"  Pshaw!"  said  Louis,  testily,  "  your  business?'' 

The  advocate  of  liberty  and  equality  hereupon  began  a 
speech,  which  had  evidently  been  composed  for  the  occasion, 
and  was  much  too  prolix  for  repetition  here.  He  spoke  of 
the  heavy  burdens  borne  by  the  people,  the  luxury  and 
dissipation  of  the  court  and  the  aristocracy;  of  the  unjust 
abuse  of  the  rights  of  man,  which  were  natural,  physical,  and 
unalienable;  "  the  law's  delay,  the  insolence  of  office,"  and 
•  all  the  various  ills  that  flesh  is  heir  to;"  the  whole  oi 
which  he  attributed  to  improper  measures  of  government; 
n  2 


30  THE    GENTLEMAN    IN    BLACK. 

and  at  length  concluded  with  a  piece  of  information,  which 
effectually  roused  Louis  from  the  ennui  into  which  he  was,  in 
spite  of  his  natural  politesse,  gradually  sinking. 

"  Your  very  extraordinary  expenditure,  Monsieur,"  said 
Bourreau,  "  has  attracted  notice.  This,  sir,  is  the  age  of 
reason — the  people  see  with  the  eyes  of  reason;  we  judge 
and  pronounce  sentence  on  rational  principles.  Your  foot- 
steps have  been  traced  latterly.  You  invariably  lose  at  the 
gambling-houses;  you  are  extravagant  everywhere,  and  in 
debt  nowhere;  you  have  no  landed  estates,  nor  can  we  learn 
that  you  have  any  monies  at  interest.  What  remains,  then, 
but  to  come  to  the  conclusion  that  you  are  one  of  the  pen- 
sioners, which,  like  locusts,  are  feeding  upon  the  vitals  of  the 
public?" 

"  Capital!"  exclaimed  Charles  Maxwe'l;  "  certainly!  he 
is  a  sinecurist.  Excellent!  and  me,  Monsieur?  what  do  you 
think  of  me?  I  conclude  that,  having  been  so  much  with 
my  friend,  I  must  likewise  have  subjected  myself  to  your 
surveillance?" 

"  Excuse  me,  Monsieur  Anglais,"  replied  Bourreau,  "  we 
see  only  with  the  eye  of  reason;  and  your  conduct,  as  well 
as  that  of  many  of  your  countrymen,  cannot  be  accounted  for 
upon  any  rational  principles  whatever." 

During  the  last  two  minutes  Louis  had  thought  more,  than 
at  any  one  period  since  we  had  the  pleasure  of  introducing 
him  to  the  reader,  when  he  was  sitting,  in  his  solitary, 
ill-furnished  room,  in  bodily  fear  of  a  tailor.  He  now 
reflected  on  the  immense  sums  which  he  had  expended,  anil 
in  how  unworthy  a  manner;  and  something  like  repentance 
crossed  his  mind  at  the  miserable  and  contemptible  result. 
He  had  attracted  the  notice  of  such  wretches  as  Bourreau 
and  his  associates!  With  such  resources, what  might  he  not 
have  achieved?  His  country,  the  royal  family,  the  govern- 
ment, all — all  were  in  difficulties,  perhaps  in  a  perilous 
situation!  Thus  thought  Louis:  and  immediately  there 
opened  to  his  mind  a  brilliant  glimpse* of  what  he  might  yet 
perform;  and  good  resolutions  for  the  future  poured  in  upon 
him,  in  a  manner  which  must  have  been  exceedingly  unplea- 
sant to  the  gentleman  in  black;  for,  on  the  instant,  he  opened 
the  door  and  made  his  appearance,  with  black  cloak,  coat, 
waistcoat,  bag,  &c.,  &c.,  as  heretofore. 

After  bowing  politely  to  our  heroes,  he  addressed  himself 
to  the  advocate  of  liberty  and  equality. 

"  Ah!  mon  cher  Bourreau!     this   is   an   agreeable   stir- 


THE    GENTLEMAN     IN    BLACK.  31 

prise!  By  all  that  is  fuliginous,  I  am  delighted  to  meet  you 
this  morning!  Always  upon  the  alert  in  the  good  cause! 
eh?  Stirring  betimes,  notwithstanding  the  fatigues  of  last 
night!  eh?  An  exquisitely  flaming  speech  that  of  yours! 
a  most  glorious  mystification! — '  Thoughts  that  breathe  and 
words  that  burn!'  I  could  not  have  done  the  thing  better 
myself.  But,  entre  nous,  it  was  excessively  hot — so  many 
people  crowded  together  in  that  small  room;  absolutely 
sulphureous — it  was  really  almost  too  much  for  me.  But, 
ca  ira!  we  shall  have  little  occasion  to  hide  our  heads  much 
longer." 

"  Mais  doucement!  Monsieur  Le  President!"  exclaimed 
Bourreau;  and  he  whispered,  that  our  heroes  were  not  among 
the  initialed. 

"  Excuse  me,"  replied  the  gentleman  in  black,  speaking  out, 
"  these  two  gentlemen  are  my  particular  friends." 

"  Diable!"  exclaimed  Bourreau. 

"  Precisely  so,"  said  his  associate,  tapping  his  snuff-box, 
and  regaling  himself  from  its  blackguard  contents,  with 
peculiar  zest. 

"  Est  il  possible!"  continued  Bourreau,  with  unfeigned 
astonishment;  "  and  yet  you  were  one  of  the  first  to  recom- 
mend"  

"  That  Monsieur's  hotel  should  be  ransacked,"  said  the 
gentleman  in  black.  "  Precisely  so;  what  have  we  to  do 
with  private  friendships?  You  know  we  have  solemnly 
sworn  that  they  shall  not  interfere  with  the  public  good; 
and  I,  as  president,  am  willing  to  convince  you  that  I'll  not 
stick  at  trifles  for  the  furtherance  of  our  great  cause.  Mon- 
sieur Desonges,"  he  continued,  addressing  himself  to  Louis, 
"  I  have  the  pleasure  to  inform  you  that  a  few  of  my  particular 
friends  are  now  at  your  hotel." 

"  I  am  concerned  to  think  that  I  was  not  at  home  to 
receive  them,"  replied  Louis. 

"  It  is  impossible  that  they  can  be  there  yet,"  said  Bourreau, 
looking  at  his  watch;  "  it  wants  a  full  hour  to  the  preparatory 
meeting." 

"  Excuse  me,  my  dear  friend,"  observed  the  black  president, 
"  for  differing  from  you  in  opinion;  but,  the  fact  is,  that  I 
accompanied  them  myself  as  far  as  the  door.  I  seldom  go 
farther  on  such  occasions.  When  they  have  once  crossed 
the  threshold,  I  can  trust  them  to  act  for  themselves." 

Monsieur  Bourreau  instantly  seized  his  hat,  pleaded  a 
most  important  engagement,  which  he  had  almost  forgotten, 


32  THE    GENTLEMAN    IN    BLACK. 

and  took  leave,  with  the  same  abruptness  with  which  he  had 
made  his  entre. 

Immediately  his  back  was  turned,  the  gentleman  in  black 
coolly  observed,  "  That  fellow  came  with  the  intention  of 
frightening  you  out  of  some  money.  However,  he'll  be  in 
time  tor  the  scramble." 

"  What  scramble?"  inquired  Louis. 

"  At  your  hotel,"  was  the  reply.  "  Those  fellows,  of 
whom  I  was  speaking,  are  now  hard  at  work,  drinking,  and 
breaking  up  your  furniture  most  charmingly,  and  ransacking 
every  corner,  in  hopes  to  find  the  proofs  of  your  connexion 
with  the  court.  Bah!  what  makes  you  seem  so  much 
alarmed?  The  loss  of  a  house  can  be  of  no  consequence 
to  you." 

"  The  devil  take  the  house,"  exclaimed  Louis. 
•   "  Precisely  so,"  observed  the  gentleman  in  black;  "  that 
would  be  quite  correct." 

"  1  must  go  there  instantly,"  said  the  young  Frenchman, 
"  or  those  friends  of  yours  will  get  possession  of  some — some 
documents,  which  I  would  not,  for  the  world — Maxwell,  my 
dear  fellow!  order  out  one  of  your  carriages  directly!" 

"  As  you  please,"  quoth  the  dark  elderly  gentleman; 
"  however,  if  you  have  not  an  absolute  desire  to  figure  away 
a  Id  lanterne,  1  should  recommend  you  to  drive  in  a.  contrary 
direction." 

"  Your  advice  may  be  very  prudent,"  replied  Louis,  "  but, 
as  a  man  of  honour,  I  cannot  suffer  those — certain  letters, 
from  individuals  of  the  highest  respectability,  to  fall  into  the 
hands  of  the  canaille" 

"  Pshaw!"  observed  the  gentleman  with  the  black  basr,  where- 
in he  immediately  began  rummaging;  "  pshaw!  phoo!  baga- 
telles! billet-doux!  mere  circulars!  I  know  what  you  mean. 
Hem!  ha" — and  he  untied  the  black  tape  which  bound  a 
pretty  considerable  number  of  notes  and  letters  together; 
"  ah — there — just  like  these."  He  then  opened  about  half 
a  score,  and  threw  them  across  the  table.  "  I  mean  to  give 
them  all  to  a  bookseller,  whom  I  have  in  my  eye,  and  have 
them  published; — I'm  sure  they'll  sell." 

"  Why,  this,"  cried  Louis,  "  is  one  of  the  notes  which  I 
locked  up  this  morning  in  my  escretoire,  from  the  Com- 
tesse !" 

"  And  you  must  have  stolen  this  from  my  desk!  exclaimed 
Charles;  "  it  is  impossible  that  I  should  be  mistaken  in  tnat 
beautiful  handwriting.  I'll  tak«  my  oath" 


THE    GENTLEMAN    IN    BLACK.^  33 

"  Don't  do  that,"  said  the  dark  antique  lover;  "  look  at  the 
directions." 

"  What  is  this?"  asked  Charles,  reading,  '  M.  Ic  Due 

de !  M.  le  Comte!'  «  M.  le  Marquis!'  read  Louis; 

*  M.  le  Baron,  Son  Altesse!'  what  does  all  this  mean? 
Have  you  b#en  housebreakirig  round  Paris,  to  collect  all 
these,  or  are  you  really  capable  of  personating  so  many 
different  cha"acters,  and  making  women  believe?" 

"  Precisely  so,"  replied  the  gentleman  in  black;  "  I  hold 
that  stratagems  are  fair,  both  in  iove  arid  war.  Indeed,  with 
me,  the  two  sciences  are  the  same,  since  I  always  consider 
women,  on  whom  I  cannot  make  an  impression,  as  the  wor^t 
and  most  powerful  of  my  enemies." 

"  And  those  with  whom  you  do  succeed,  seem,  methinks, 
to  be  treated  in  a  strange  manner,"  said  Charles,  indignantly. 
"  I  really  know  not  in  what  terms  to  express  my  opinion  of 
your  conduct,  it  is  so  mean,  paltry,  cowardly,  ungentlemanly, 
unfeeling,  dishonourable,  cruel"—- — 

"  Precisely  so,"  replied  the  gentleman  in  black,  with  per- 
fect sangfroid;  "  I  do  not  deny  it.  But,  after  all,  I  believe 
that,  in  similar  cases,  my  plan  is  followed  by  the  generality 
«.,f  mankind.  As  I  said  before,  love  is  like  war.  Does  a 
general,  merely  because  he  has  taken  a  town, sit  himself  down 
and  reside  there?  Bah!  but  you've  already  had  my  opinion 
of  matrimony;  and,  as  for  any  other  ties — bah!  they  are 
preciously  ridiculous!  Love,  you  know, 

'  At  sight  of  human  ties, 
Flutters  his  wings,  and,  in  a  moment,  flies.' 

it  is  a  fact,  upon  my  honour!"  and  here,  as  though  well 
pleased  with  the  manner  in  which  he  had  acquitted  himself, 
he  had  recourse  to  his  Vesuvian  repository  of  black  Paris 
rappee  and  hellebore. 

He  was  not,  hrwever,  even  by  his  favourite  topic  of 
speaking  against  the  fair  sex,  to  be  diverted  from  the  main 
purport  of  his  visit,  which  was  to  drive  the  two  young  men 
from  Paris.  He  was  determined  on  this  point,  because  he 
perceived,  in  Louis,  a  lurking  disposition  to  apply  the  means, 
placed  at  his  disposal,  in  a  way  which  would  be  excessively 
unpleasant  to  his  feelings.  He,  therefore,  recited  a  few- 
anecdotes  and  resolutions  of  the  then  embryo  revolutionists, 
deputies,  triumviri,  directeurs,  republicans,  friends  of  liberty, 
&c.,  &c.,  which  were  well  calculated  to  shake  stronger  nerves 
than  were  possessed  by  either  of  his  hearers.  The  estima- 


34  THE    GENTLEMAN    IN    BLACK, 

tion  in  which  Louis  had  held  his  billet-doux  was  much 
diminished,  by  the  discovery  that  they  were  not  so  unique  as 
he  had  imagined;  and  he,  as  usual  in  such  cases,  began  to 
conceive  himself  excessively  ill-used  by  the  inditers.  There 
was,  however,  a  lingering  inclination  within  him,  a  something 
which  whispered  him,  not  to  leave  Paris.  He  could  not 
jxactly  account  for  it;  for  he  had  not  seen  the  fair  Emilie, 
nor  her  most  perpendicular  father,  the  Comte  de  Tien  a  la 
Cour,  for  some  months. 

But  the  gentleman  in  black  had  a  certain  misgiving, 
relative  to  the  exact  state  of  his  mind;  and,  therefore,  left 
him  not  until  he  had  completely  bewildered  his  brain  in  the 
mazes  and  mysteries  of  politics,  and  opened  to  his  view  a 
state  of  things  amply  sufficient  to  make  any  man,  of  a  quiet 
and  pleasure-loving  disposition,  desire  to  be  "  upon  the 
move"  from  the  scene  of  action. 

We  have  been  told  that  this  was  the  only  instance  in 
which  the  trentleman  in  black  was  ever  known  to  take  an 
active  part  in  persuading  a  young  man  of  fashion  and  fortune 
to  quit  Paris. 

To  men  provided  with  such  black  morocco  pocket-books, 
such  long  black  elastic  silk  purses,  such  black  snuff-boxes, 
and  such  black  cut  glass  bottles  in  such  black  ebony  cases, 
little  preparation  was  necessary  for  a  journey;  therefore,  our 
heroes  made  up  their  minds  to  dine  quietly  at  home,  at 
Charley's  Hotel;  then  to  take  a  farewell  lounge  round  the 
Palais  Royal,  and  to  depart  on  the  following  morning. 

In  the  meanwhile,  the  gentleman  in  black,  ever  upon  the 
alert  to  carry  his  schemes  into  effect,  had  propagated  a 
report  among  the  aristocracy,  that  Monsieur  Desonges,  whose 
house  had  been  attacked  by  the  mob  that  morning,  had 
previously  been  handsomely  remunerated.  That,  he  was,  in 
fact,  one  of  the  secret  abettors  of  the  disaffected;  that  his 
house  was  purposely  furnished  in  a  most  extravagant  manner; 
that  his  cellars  were  stocked  with  an  immense  quantity  of  the 
most  expensive  wines;  and,  in  short,  that  the  whole  affair  was 
"  got  up"  for  the  purpose  of  inflaming  the  minds  of  the 
canaille  by  a  taste  of  plunder,  and  leading  them  to  imagine 
that  the  whole  of  the  aristocracy  were  living  in  a  state  01 
similar  luxury  and  extravagance,  while  they  themselves  were 
suffering  under  the  pressure  of  poverty  and  want. 

Some,  indeed,  have  avowed  that  this  report  was  not 
merely  a  feint,  to  answer  the  purposes  of  the  hour;  but  that 
.he  president  in  black  did  really  excite  the  populace  to 


THE    GEM'LEMAN     IN     BLACK.  3i> 

attack  Louis's  hotel,  with  the  intention  of  producing  such  an 
impression  on  their  minds.  Be  that  as  it  may,  Louis  had 
scarcely  entered  the  cafe  which  he  was  wont  to  patronize, 
than  lie  was  immediately  the  object  of  general  attention. 
Expressions  of  condolence,  upon  the  horrible  transaction  of 
the  morning,  poured  in,  from  various  quarters;  and,  it  must 
be  confessed,  that  the  light  manner  in  which  the  owner  of  so 
splendid  an  hotel  treated  his  loss,  tended,  not  a  little,  to 
confirm  the  suspicion  that  he  had  been  indemnified. 

Little  knots  of  politicians  were,  consequently,  gathered 
together  at  all  the  tables:  there  was  much  whispering  and 
shrugging  of  shoulders;  and  the  subject  was  discussed  with 
occasional  solemnity,  and  a  vehemence  certainly  quite  ade- 
quate to  its  importance. 

In  the  -meanwhile,  the  two  friends  moved  on,  nothing 
doubting — looked  in  at  the  theatres — nodded  to  some  half 
dozen  friends,  and  displayed  a  perfect  ease  in  their  manners, 
which,  under  existing  circumstances,  appeared  quite  mar- 
vellous. It  was  noticed,  however,  that  they  did  not  enter 
certain  privileged  boxes,  occupied  by  well  known  leaders  of 
fashion  and  rank,  with  whom,  particularly  some  of  the  ladies 
therein,  they  were  understood  to  be  on  good  terms.  This 
circumstance  was  afterwards  spoken  of  as  a  proof  of  Louis's 
defection  from  the  aristocratics,  by  one  party;  and,  by  those 
on  the  other  side  of  the  question,  it  was  cited  as  a  flagrant 
instance  of  aristocratic  pride  and  ingratitude,  that,  on  the 
very  day  that  a  young  man  was  deprived  of  the  means  of 
continuing  a  monstrous  expenditure  for  their  gratification,  he 
was  "  cut"  by  the  people  about  the  court.  The  Englishman 
was,  of  course,  looked  upon  with  an  eye  of  jealousy  by  poli- 
ticians of  all  descriptions. 

Though  perfectly  unconscious  of  the  great  sensation  which 
they  created,  the  two  friends  could  not  but  perceive  that, 
occasionally,  an  evil  eye  was  upon  them;  and  they  were 
about  to  go  home,  to  prepare,  by  rest,  for  the  fatierues  of  the 
morrow,  when  Louis  was  accosted  by  a  friend  of  his  former 
humble  fortunes,  whom  he  had  not  seen  for  many  months. 
On  his  lips  was  condolence  for  the  morning's  disaster;  and 
there  seemed,  to  Louis,  a  much  deeper  feeling  in  his  tone 
than  in  any  other  of  the  numerous  regrets  which  had  met 
his  ear. 

"  Poor  fellow!"  said  he,  whispering  to  Charles.  "  It  is 
impossible  to  tell  when  we  may  meet  again.  I  know  he  is 
badly  off;  but  I  cannot  offend  him  by  offering  him  money 


36  THE    GENTLEMAN    IN    BLACK. 

so,  I'lljust  go  and  lose  a  few  louis  with  him."  When  a  man 
has  a  desire  to  throw  away  a  little  money,  he  can  generally 
effect  the  purpose  without  much  difficulty;  and  therefore  the 
business  was  soon  settled:  but,  unfortunately,  the  transaction 
took  place  in  the  Palais  Royal,  and  was  witnessed  by  divers 
persons,  whose  business  it  was,  or  who  had  made  it  their 
business,  to  watch  Louis's  conduct:  and  the  style  in  which 
he  played,  and  the  glee  with  which  he  lost,  were  conclusive 
evidences  of  the  report  in  circulation  against  him. 

The  room  in  which  they  sat  was,  by  tins  time,  much 
thinned  of  company — there  were  but  one  or  two  stragglers, 
at  odd  corners.  Charles  threw  a  louis  to  the  ancient 
garfon,  and  the  friends  were  about  to  depart,  when  an 
herculean  member  of  the  gen-cTarmerie  entered  the  room 
and  formally  arrested  Louis  Desonges  in  the  name  of  the 
king. 

"  On  what  charge?"  exclaimed  the  prisoner. 

"  That  is  no  affair  of  mine,"  said  the  soldier;  "  I  am  only 
performing  my  duty." 

"  I'll  be  his  bail,"  said  the  gentleman  in  black,  whom 
nobody  had  seen  before,  but  who  now  stepped  forward  as  to 
the  rescue. 

"  Monsieur  is  a  state  prisoner,"  observed  the  gen-cTarme, 
with  a  supercilious  air. 

"  Never  mind  him,"  said  the  gentleman  in  black,  to  Louis: 
and  he  forthwith  threw  off  his  black  Geneva  cloak  and  black 
coat,  and  displayed,  to  the  wondering  optics  of  the  party,  a 
curiously  worked  black  cambric  shirt,  which  he  wore  beneath. 
Then,  placing  himself  in  an  attitude,  which  would  have  done 
honour  to  a  first-rate  English  bruiser,  he  calmly  told  the 
soldier  to  "  come  on." 

"  Who  the  devil  are  you,  old  boy?"  asked  the  gen-cTarme, 
somewhat  diverted  at  the  drollery  of  his  antagonist's  appear- 
ance, and  mistaking  him  for  a  drunken  bourgeois. 

"  Precisely  so,"  replied  the  gentleman  in  cambric. 

"  You  had  better  go  home  and  look  after  your  family," 
added  the  soldier. 

"  Precisely  so,"  was  the  answer;  "that  is  precisely  what  I 
mean  to  do." 

"  Guillaume!"  said  the  man  in  office  to  one  of  his  comrades 
who  stood  at  the  door,  "  turn  out  this  old  drunkard." 

"  Oui,  mon  corporal"  replied  Guillaume,  advancing 
solemnly,  and  lowering  his  musket,  as  if  to  sweep  away  tnp 
aforesaid  black-shirted  gentleman,  as  a  fly  may  he  brushed 


THE    GENTLEMAN    IN    BLACK.  37 

from  the  table:  but,  to  Guillaume's  utter  dismay,  the  said 
dark  gentleman  gave  the  said  musket  a  kick,  which  sent  it 
up  to  the  ceiling,  where  it  hung  suspended  by  the  bayonet. 

"  Diable!"  exclaimed  poor  Guillaume. 

"  Precisely  so,"  repeated  the  gentleman  of  the  black 
cambric,  rubbing  his  hands,  and  then  resuming  his  attitude  of 
defence;  "  why  don't  you  come  on,  you  cowards?" 

"  Cowards!"  exclaimed  the  corporal;  "  I'll  soon  teach 
you,  you  old  coquinF  and  he  rushed  forward  to  the  attack. 

"  One,  two,"  said  the  gentleman  in  black,  as  he  planted 
two  blows,  well  known  among  men  of  "  science"  by  those 
names,  and  down  fell  the  corporal.  "  One,  two,  again." 
added  the  black  bruiser,  and  poor  Guillaume  measured 
his  length  upon  the  floor.  "  I'm  the  boy  for  darkening 
their  daylights,"  cried  the  dingy  elderly  gentleman,  in  high 
glee. 

"  Au  secours!"  roared  the  two  prostrate  men  of  war;  and 
instantly  a  great  noise  of  trampling  was  heard  upon  the 
staircase,  immediately  after  which  a  dozen  of  gen-cTarmeris 
made  their  appearance.  The  sight  of  "  a  mill,"  and  the 
admirable  science  displayed  by  his  dinery  friend,  recalled 
old  times  to  Charles's  remembrance,  and  he  had,  as  if  by 
instinct,  thrown  off  his  coat.  Louis  followed  his  example, 
though  he  knew  not  exactly  for  what  purpose:  but  he  was 
one  of  the  million  who  think  it  right  to  imitate  those  around 
them. 

The  soldiers  drew  up  like  brave  men  prepared  to  encounter 
an  enemy;  but  there  was  no  enemy  to  fight.  It  was,  to 
them,  a  scene  most  strange  and  unaccountable,  for  they 
could  perceive  nothing  formidable  in  the  appearance  of  two 
young  men  unarmed  and  without  coats,  and  a  short  elderly 
gentleman,  in  a  black  shirt,  whom  they — for  soldiers  are 
wofully  ignorant  in  such  matters — mistook  for  a  clergyman. 
Their  comrades  had  by  this  time  got  up,  and  were  rubbing 
their  eyes,  which  were,  however,  very  effectually  obscured. 
More  soldiers  were  now  heard  on  the  ascent,  for  the  alarm 
had  gone  round  with  true  military  rapidity. 

"  Milling  won't  do  now,"  whispered  the  gentleman  in  blacK 
to  Charles,  "  there  are  too  many  of  them;  leave  all  to  me, 
and  tell  Desonges  to  hold  his  tongue." 

An  officer  now  stepped  forward,  and  asked  the  two  eye- 
rubbers  what  was  the  meaning  of  the  uproar. 

'•  It  is  that  infernal  old  rascal  in  black,"  replied  the 
corporal. 


38  THE    GENTLEMAN    IN    BLACK. 

"  Precisely  so,"  said  the  gentleman  of  the  cambric. 

"  That's  him,"  cried  Guillaume;  "  that's  him  that  kicked 
my  musket  up  into  the  ceiling.  And  immediately  he  recom- 
menced rubbing,  and  exclaiming  "  Oh!  my  eyes!" 

The  officer  looked  up,  and,  seeing  the  musket  suspended 
by  the  bayonet  from  the  roof,  into  which  it  seemed  to  have 
penetrated  to  some  depth,  turned  to  the  gentleman  in  black 
{'or  an  explanation. 

"  Precisely  so,"  was  the  reply;  "  I  confess  it.  I  was 
wrong:  but  I  deliver  myself  up  to  answer  for  my  improper 
conduct." 

"  That's  not  him!"  roared  the  blind  corporal. 

"  What  do  you  mean?"  asked  the  officer;  "  you  said  this 
moment  it  was  him." 

"  No,  no,  not  the  prisoner!  the  prisoner  is  him  in  the 
pompadour  coat."  cried  the  corporal. 

"  They  have  none  of  them  any  coats,"  said  the  officer. 

"  Sir,"  resumed  the  gentleman  in  black  muslin,  with  an 
ease  and  elegance  of  manner,  which  failed  not  in  its  effect 
upon  the  young  military  Parisian,  and,  at  the  same  time, 
imitating  so  closely  the  tone  of  Louis,  as  to  startle  the 
real  owner  of  the  voice,  "  sir,  the  poor  corporal  seems  to 
have  been  labouring  for  some  time  under  a  defect  of  vision, 
and  the  crisis  has  come  suddenly  upon  him.  In  the  matter 
of  the  coat,  however,  I  must  say" 

"  That's  him!"  shouteM  the  corporal;  "  I'll  swear  to  him." 

"  Let  me  beg,  Mons.  le  capitaine?  continued  the  gentle- 
man in  the  black  sleeves,  "  that  you  will  not  suffer  any 
swearing  in  my  presence!  but,  as  I  was  observing,  here  is 
my  coat,"  and  he  took  it  from  a  chair,  and  held  it  up  toward 
the  chandelier;  "  you  may  perceive  it  is  a  sort  of  a — 
pompadour — or  a  what  d'ye  call  it  de  la  reint — or — a  some- 
thing else  from  the  Dauphin.  Bah!  I  am  no  tailor;  I  don't 
understand  such  matters." 

"  By  all  that's  courtly,"  said  the  officer,  "  it  is  a  most 
exquisite  cloth,  and  made  in  a  style  of  infinite  and  inimitable 
workmanship.  Will  you  favour  me  with  your  artist's  address? 
Really,  upon  my  honour!  I  never! — but,  as  to  the  colour — I 
really  cannot  say  exactly  that  I  know  what  term  to  give  it; 
it  is  a  kind  of  a  sort  of  a — no — not  exactly  that — but,  apropos, 
I  believe  you  are  my  prisoner,  now  I  think  ot  it  r" 

"  Precisely  so,"  replied  the  gentleman  usually  in  black  ; 
"  it  is  not  worth  while  to  keep  these  men  waiting.  As  for 
the  charge  against  me — let  it  come — but  gentlemen  of  ycur 


THE    GENTLEMAN    IN    BLACK.  39 

honourable  profession  must,  I  know,  do  their  duty.  We  may 
as  well,  therefore,  adjourn." 

"  Apropos,  corporal — you  have  the  letter  about  you  ?" 
asked  the  officer.  The  poor  fellow  fumbled  and  found  it, 
and  respectfully  presented  it  to  his  superior,  who  glanced  over 
it,  and  then  continued  speaking.  "  Your  name  is" 

"  Louis  Desonges,"  said  the  gentleman  of  the  curiously 
cut  coat. 

"  Let  me  see,"  resum  -d  the  officer;  and  then  he  read  to 
himself  a  description  '  /  Louis's  person  and  stature,  which, 
although  they  accor<  d  as  little  as  might  be,  appeared 
perfectly  correct  in  '  i  eye,  as  indicating  the  very  gentle- 
manly, though  some'  at  dark,  personage  before  him. 

When  the  scrutiny  was  over,  the  gentleman  in  the  ques- 
tionable pompadour  coat  took  the  officer's  arm  with  the  most 
perfect  coolness,  and  remarked,  "  You'll  find  my  tailor  a 
devilish  good  fellow — never  in  a  hurry  for  his  money." 

"  Capital!"  exclaimed  the  young  officer;  "  my  dear  sir, 
I'm  greatly  obliged — but — just  turn  round,  now  it's  on — by 
St.  Louis!  it  fits  like  a  glove!  What  do  you  call  long  credit? 
But,  I  beg  your  pardon,  I  keep  you  waiting — it  is  my  duty 
now  to  wait  upon  you." 

"  Pardon  me,  my  dear  sir,"  said  the  gentleman  of  the  black 
cambric  and  pompadour,  "  it  is  my  duty  to  wait  upon  you — 
I  entreat  you — indeed  you  give  me  pain — consider,  I  am  your 
prisoner." 

"  Well,  then,  I  am  your  guardian,"  was  the  reply;  "ha! 
ha!  well,  and  so  he — Serjeant!  set  us  a  going,  will  you! — so 
he  gives  devilish  long  credit,  does  he?" 

"  You  may  say  that!"  answered  the  gentleman  of  the  black 
bag:  and,  with  such  sort  of  conversation,  the  military  and  the 
prisoner  left  our  heroes,  as  though  they  were  persons  utterly 
beneath  their  attention. 

"  It  is,  by  no  means,  an  unpleasant  thing  to  be  taken  to  the 
Bastile  by  proxy,"  observed  Louis. 

"  He's  a  capital  old  fellow!"  said  Charles,  "  with  his  '  one, 
two' — did  you  observe  his  guard?" 

"  It  was  a  b.ackguard  style  of  doing  the  thing,  after  all," 
added  Louis;  •'  I  prefer  the  rapier:"  and  then  they,  in  their 
way  home,  entered  upon  a  discussion  relative  to  national 
habits  and  prejudices,  respecting  which  they  argued  long,  and 
with  the  usual  result,  namely,  that  each  became  more  firmly 
established  in  his  own  opinion. 

In  the  morning  an  officer  of  the  Bastile,  who  knew  Louis's 


40  THE    GENTLEMAN    IN    Bi  ACK. 

person  well,  and  whose  duty  it  was  to  wait  upon  him  in  hi? 
confinement,  was  much  astonished  to  find  his  place  occupied 
by  the  gentleman  in  black,  who  seemed  in  high  glee,  ami 
gaily  addressed  his  visitor,  with  whom  it  seemed  he  had 
formerly  been  intimate.  The  jailor,  however,  did  not  now 
feel  at  all  disposed  to  acknowledge  the  acquaintance;  and 
the  dark  gentleman  was  immediately  brought  forth  from  his 
dark  cell,  and  confronted  with  the  corporal  and  Guillaume, 
who  had,  by  this  time,  recovered  the  :-se  of  their  eyes.  An 
eclaircissement  consequently  took  plac  and  the  young  officer 
made  ten  thousand  apologies  for  the  Ci  >r  into  which  he  had 
been  led  by  the  folly  of  his  men. 

The  gentleman  in  black  vehemently  ntreated  him  not  to 
give  himself  a  moment's  uneasiness;  anu  Assured  him  that  he 
could  not  but  deem  the  occurrence  most  fortunate,  which  had 
introduced  him  to  a  young  officer  of  such  bravery,  such 
courtly  manners,  and  such  exquisite  taste.  A  few  compli- 
ments were  then  exchanged  between  the  two  new  acquaint- 
ances, and  (after  the  gentleman  in  black  had  given  a  handful 
of  Louis  ta  the  corporal  and  Guillaume,  to  purchase  oint- 
ment for  their  black  eyes)  they  drove  off  together  to  the 
tailor's,  where  the  hopeful  young  military  exquisite  "  opened 
an  account,"  in  a  manner  extremely  gratifying  to  his  com- 
panion. 

"  The  fellow  gives  long  credit,  you  say?"  observed  the 
officer,  carelessly,  as  he  buttoned  his  coat,  and  they  were 
leaving  the  artist's  magasin. 

"  Devilish  long,"  replied  the  other. 

"  Capital!  I  hate  to  be  pestered  for  payment  by  these 
vulgar  fellows.  It's  excessively  annoying." 

"  Precisely  so,"  replied  his  dark  acquaintance;  "  but  set 
your  heart  at  ease.  I'll  mystify  the  fellow.  I'll  tell  him  that 
your  custom  will  make  his  fortune,  for  that  nothing  can 
prevent  your  rapid  rise  in  the  service,  and  that  you  must,  in 
a  very  few  years,  be  a  general  officer,  at  least.  And,  indeed, 
my  dear  friend,  there  is  no  impropriety  in  my  making  such  a 
representation:  for,  really,  with  your  appearance,  your  fig">re, 
manners,  taste,  and  abilities" 

"  Nay,  nay,  my  dear  Monsieur!"  exclaimed  the  young 
Parisian,  "  you  are  too  partial !" 

"  Not  a  whit,"  said  the  insinuating  flatterer.  "  I  could  tell 
you  what  a  certain  beautiful  young  Comtesse — but,  mum — 
apropos,  have  you  breakfasted?" 

"  Not  yet,"  was  the  reply. 


Tilt     GENTLEMAN     IN     BLACK.  41 

"  AHoiiK  done,"  exclaimed  the  other;  '•  d  la  fourchette, 
tuiijours — that's  my  way;"  and  they  went  into  a  restaurateur 
together. 

From  thence,  after  a  couple  of  hours,  the  gentleman  in 
black  came  forth  alone,  muttering  to  himself,  "Hem!  at 
billiards  with  a  chevalier  d 'Industrie — believes  himself  the 
handsomest  fellow  in  Paris — fancies  all  the  ladies  in  love 
with  him — long  tailors'  bill — good — exquisitely  dingy!" — and, 
snuffing  up  a  huge  pinch  of  black  Paris  rappee  and  hellebore, 
he  walked  away. 

In  the  meanwhile  our  two  heroes  were  en  route,  and  had 
left  Paris  many  leagues  in  the  rear. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

WE  are  now  about  to  ask  the  reader  to  repeat  an  action 
which,  in  all  probability,  he  will  have  committed  several 
times,  without  any  hint  from  us.  We  earnestly  request  him, 
after  reading  a  few  more  lines,  to  throw  aside  our  pages,  and 
to  employ  himself  awhile  in  fancying  himself  possessed  of 
such  a  black  morocco  pocket-book,  long  black  elastic  silk 
purse,  and  et  ceteras,  as  appertained  to  each  of  our  two 
heroes.  Imagination,  we  opine,  if  its  wings  be  allowed  full 
play,  will  lead  him  a  strange  dance.  Such  a  dance,  indeed, 
if  the  truth  were  to  be  confessed,  as  would  be  scarcely 
seemly,  if  taken  in  reality.  Should  the  eye  of  beauty  be  cast 
on  this  page,  we  beg  it  to  be  understood  that  the  last  sentence 
is  not  intended  to  apply  to  the  lair. 

We  now  suppose  this  task  to  be  executed:  and,  if  it  be 
done  fairly,  and  honestly,  and  without  any  mental  reservation, 
the  reader  will  not  be  surprised  to  hear  that  Charles  Maxwell 
and  Louis  Desonges  committed  many  egregious  acts  during 
their  ramblings,  for  three  years,  on  the  continent.  The 
gentleman  in  black  appears  to  have  been  perfectly  satisfied 
with  their  proceedings:  at  all  events,  he  deemed  his  per- 
sonal appearance  before  them  unnecessary;  and,  it  is  said, 
that,  having  much  business  in  hand  at  that  period  in  Paris, 
he  established  his  head-quarters  at  the  Palais  Royal,  and  was 
to  oe  seen,  every  hour  of  the  day  and  night,  at  some  one  of 
the  various  cafes  therein,  or  in  the  neighbourhood.  His 
K  2 


42  THE    GENTLEMAN    IN    BLACK. 

society  seems  likewise  to  have  been  much  sought  after;  and 
the  dark  old  gentleman  appeared  in  high  glee,  and  entered 
into  the  spirit  of  all  that  was  going  on  around  him. 

The  young  men  had,  in  the  meanwhile,  seen  all  that  was 
worth  seeing,  and  many  things  which  were  not  worth  seeing, 
and  many  more  which  it  might  have  been  better  if  they  had 
not  seen.  Exhaustless  purses  bring  endless  wants;  and  they 
became  patrons  of  the  arts,  and  amateurs,  cognoscenti,  &c., 
&c.,  in  music,  painting,  sculpture,  engraving,  &c.,  &c.:  were, 
consequently,  initiated  into,  and  made  fellows  and  members 
of  various  Societies,  instituted  for  various  purposes,  but,  all 
professing  the  most  disinterested  motives,  and  aiming  only  at 
the  public  good.  They  sojourned  awhile  in  Switzerland, 
talking  and  dreaming  of  Jean  Jaqnes  Rousseau.  Then  they 
passed  into  Italy,  and  saw  Rome  and  the  Pope,  and  talked 
of  antiques  and  virtu,  and  picked  up  divers  set  terms  relative 
to  painting,  of  the  meaning  of  which  they  had  some  indistinct 
conception.  Sicily  and  Greece  were  visited,  because  it  was 
pleasant  to  be  able  to  say  that  they  had  been  to  those 
countries — and  then  they  bent  their  way  homeward  through 
the  Austrian  territories,  and  tarried  awhile  at  the  sundry- 
mighty  little  courts,  which  were  afterwards  conglomerated 
by  Napoleon  into  "  The  Confederation  of  the  Rhino." 
Among  these,  each  of  our  heroes  lived  en  prince,  and,  by 
their  profuse  expenditure,  excited  a  "  great  sensation!"  At 
length  they  parted,  in  the  Netherlands,  with  mutual  profes- 
sions of  interminable  friendship,  and  a  fixed  resolution  of 
keeping  up  a  regular  correspondence. 

The  French  Revolution,  however,  which  commenced 
almost  immediately  afterwards,  revolved  the  whole  machine 
of  European  politics  with  so  rapid  a  whirl,  as  to  throw 
England  and  France,  like  two  balls  impelled  by  centrifugal 
power,  at  the  utmost  possible  distance  from  the  central  point 
of  amity,  at  which  they  had  lain  sometime  quietly  together; — 
the  consequence  of  this  convulsion  was,  that  although 
Charles  and  Louis  had  correspondent  and  corresponding 
inclinations,  they  found  it  extremely  difficult,  and  at  length 
dangerous,  to  attempt  to  correspond,  and  so  gradually  lost 
sight  of  each  other. 

Charles  returned  to  London,  where  some  tons  of  statues, 
coins,  vases,  paintings,  bronzes,  and  bonzes,  bas  and  haut 
relievos,  mummies  and  mummeries,  had  arrived  before  him. 
Consequently,  he  walked  amid  a  crowd  of  envious  or 
admiring  worshippers — a  complete  lion,  like  Juno  amid  th? 


THE    GENTLEMAN     IN    BLACK.  43 

'esser  goddesses; — "  incedit  leo"  as  Doctor  Panglos  would 
say.  The  shipment  he  had  made  was  a  most  lucky  hit, 
inasmuch  as  it  introduced  him  to  the  best  society  of  the  day, 
and  obtained  for  him  almost  as  many  letters  at  the  end  of  his 
name,  as  there  are  papers  on  the  tail  of  a  kite;  so  away  he 
went  shining  among  the  "  lesser  stars,"  like  a  comet,  for 

several  years;  and  then No,  fair  reader,  it  was  not 

then — but  long  before,  that  he  had  discovered  that,  with  all 
the  excitement  of  unchecked  pleasure,  inexhaustible  riches, 
and  uninterrupted  health,  there  was  still  a  "  something" 
wanting.  And  what?  It  was  no  less  than  the  society,  the 
friendship,  the  love  of  one,  (if  there  be  such  another  on  the 
earth,)  as  good,  as  fair,  and  as  virtuous  as  thou  art.  He  saw 
the  half-forgotten,  or  if  not,  only-remembered-in-dreams,  form 
of  Clara  Haultaught,  and  he  felt  that  he  had  done  both  her 
and  himself  an  injustice,  by  supposing  that  it  was  the  extent 
of  her  father's  fortune  which  led  him  to  fancy  her  so  exceed- 
ingly beautiful,  when  he  (then  on  the  eve  of  bankruptcy) 
had  danced  with  her  at  Leicester.  He  knew  the  old  ad- 
miral's failing,  (alas!  that  such  an  anomaly  should  exist,  as  a 
brave  but  avaricious  man!)  and  one  day,  after  dinner,  told 
him  that  whenever  he  married — observing  by  the  way  that  he 
had  no  such  intention — he  was  resolved  never  to  accept  a 
penny  of  his  wife's  fortune,  but  to  settle  the  whole  upon  her 
and  her  heirs,  arid  even  to  double  the  amount,  if  her  parents 
thought  fit. 

"  Ah !  my  dear  sir,"  said  the  admiral,  "  if  all  young  men 
had  your  consideration — hem — let  me  see,  there's  poor 
Board'em  of  the  Scourer;  two  years  ago  he  got  posted,  and 
married  Commissioner  Green's  daughter,  who  had  her  poor 
aunt  Bet's  savings  all  in  her  own  hands,  twenty  thousand  and 
more,  got  foul  of  the  Lord  knows  how  many  d — d  five- 
farthing,  twopenny-halfpenny  French  merchant-men.  You 
know  what  followed;  I  say  nothing — the  prize-court,  and 
all  that  sort  of  thing — teazed,  bothered,  taken  aback,  kept 

ashore,  chaise-and-four,  d n.  You  know  the  rest.  Got  to 

Boodle's,  half  mad.  Not  a  shilling  left." 

An  invitation  was  a  matter  of  course,  and  one  succeeded 
another,  as  waves  upon  the  beach. 

"  I  never  knew  happiness  before,"  said  Charles  to  Clara. 

Clara  seemed  as  if  she  had  uttered  the  words,  and  blushed, 
(how  Gothic!)  and  looked  she  "  knew  not  where,"  she  told 
Charles  some  weeks  afterwards,  "  for  there  was  a  swimming 
mistiness  before  her  eyes." 


41  THE    GENTLEMAN     IN     BLACK. 

Thp  old  admiral  happened  at  the  time  to  be  "missing," 
and  so  was  every  earthly  object,  for  the  space  of  three  hours, 
to  the  eyes  and  recollection  of  the  two  lovers.  All  they 
beheld  was  each  other,  until — ding-dong  went  the  discordant 
first  dinner-bell. 

"  A  moment — one  moment  longer,  rny  dear  Clara!"  said 
Charles. 

The  moment  seemed  scarcely  past,  when  the  second  larum 
awoke  Clara  from  her  dream,  and,  mechanically  recollecting 
her  father's  extreme  precision,  she  rushed  from  the  presence 
of  her  lover.  Absorbed  in  his  dreams  of  future  bliss,  he 
was  leaning  his  head  upon  his  hand,  when  in  stalked  the  old 
admiral. 

"  Ah,  Charles!"  said  he,  panting,  "  how  are  you,  my  lad? 
Devilish  hot  weather!  One  would  think  the  good  ship 
Britannia  was  afloat,  and  we  were  all  crossing  the  line  toge- 
ther. Ha!  ha!  eh?" 

"  True  enough,"  observed  Charles. 

"  Eh?  What's  that?  What's  true  enough?"  asked  the 
admiral. 

"  I  have  crossed  the  line,"  said  young  Maxwell. 

"  The  devil  you  have!  When,  where,  how?"  ejaculated 
the  astonished  seaman. 

"  Just  now,"  replied  Charles. 

"  Now!  why,  zounds,  boy,  you  are  mad  or  dreaming." 

"  Both,"  replied  Charles,  "  but  it  is  a  dream  and  delirium 
that  will,  I  hope,  last  all  my  life." 

Then  followed  an  explanation,  told  in  as  coherent  a 
manner  as  could  possibly  be  "  expected  under  existing 
circumstances."  The  old  gentleman  affected  gravity,  al- 
though he  experienced  a  sensation  of  extreme  pleasure:  but 
at  length  the  generous  feelings  which,  in  spite  of  individual 
imperfections,  seem  ever  to  pervade  the  breast  of  a  British 
seaman,  rose  triumphant  above  all  disguise. 

"  Give  me  your  hand!"  exclaimed  the  admiral,  and  he 
clasped  it  with  as  much  firmness  and  strength,  as  though  he 
was  grasping  his  sword  on  the  quarter-deck  in  the  day  of 
battle.  "  But  hold,  young  gentleman,"  he  continued,  recol- 
lecting himself,  "  we're  running  before  the  wind  into  a 
strange  port,  without  taking  soundings.  You  have  ex- 
changed broadsides  with  Clara,  I  see  plain  enough.  1 
expected  it,  1  must  confess;  so  d — n  all  hypocrisy:  there's 
an  end  of  that.  Her  colours,  my  brave  fellow,  where  arc 
they?  Lowered,  eh?" 


TI1K    GENTLEMAN    IN    BLACK.  45 

At  this  moment  Clara  entered  the  drawing-room. 

"  Hist!  she  comes,"  whispered  Charles,  anxious  to  save 
nis  beloved  from  the  pain  her  father  might  at  random  inflict 
on  her  sensibility. 

"La!  How  delicate,"  exclaims  some  lady's  maid.  Well. 
Miss,  we  can't  help  it:  we  tell  the  tale  as 'twas  told  to  u»; 
but  what  a  lady's  sensibility  is,  exactly  and  precisely,  we  can- 
not satisfactorily  define. 

The  admiral  knew  nothing  of,  or  else  had  forgotten,  for 
"  old  men  will  forget,"  all  about  such  matters,  and  therefore 
repeated  after,  Charles, 

"  Ay,  here  she  comes,  sure  enough!  and  seems  taken  a 
little  aback.  Come,  Clary,  my  dear,  the  secret's  all  out. 
It's  no  use  '  shamming  Abraham'  now;  so,  what  say  you,  my 

own  dear  little God  bless  you!"  Here  the  old  veteran's 

utterance  was  stopt  by  the  close  embrace  of  his  daughter, 
who  threw  herself  upon  his  neck  and-  kissed  him  with  a  most 
vehement  alacrity,  yet,  strange  to  say,  all  the  while  sobbing 
"  to  match." 

"  Come,  come,  my  dear  girl,  Clary,"  gasped  the  admiral, 
"  my  love — nay,  nay,  dearest,  don't  cry.  Have  it  all  your 
own  way;  I  won't,  no  not  to  be  made  commander-in-chief 
in  the  East.  No,  no — come,  come,  d — n  it,  girl,  you'll 
choke  me! — So,  then,  you  won't  strike  your  colours  may- 
hap? eh?" 

"  Down,  down  to  the  ground,  my  beloved  father,"  said 
Clara,  and,  sinking  on  her  knees,  she  grasped  those  of  her 
parent,  whose  eyes  were  suffused  with  tears,  while  his  face 
exhibited  a  strange  warfare.  It  seemed  to  have  been 
"  boarded"  by  "  sensibility,"  striving  hard  to  overcome  its 
opponent,  who  had  "  assumed"  the  command,  and  every 
muscle  was  briskly  engaged,  fighting  inch  by  inch.  At  last 
down  fell  the  streamers;  it  was  all  over. 

"  What  a  d — d  old  fool  I  am,"  sobbed  the  admiral,  sinking 
upon  a  sofa.  Then  up  rose  Clara,  and  down  fell  Charles 
upon  one  knee;  and  both  of  them  hung  over  the  old  gentle- 
man, and  applied,  or  rather  endeavoured  to  apply,  smelling- 
bottles,  &c. 

'•  I'm  a  d — d  stupid,  lubberly,  snivelling  old  fellow.  I 
tiever  did  so  but  once  before,  and  that  was  when  the  lilies 
came  tumbling  down  first  after  I  was  posted — sinking,  by 
G — d!  not  a  shot  left:  sea  running;  couldn't  board  'em;  not 

a  sail  in  sight;  d — n  it see  the  Gazette.  Why  do  you 

both  make  such  a  fool  of  me?  Clary,  Charles,  give  me 


46  THE    GENTLEMAN     IS     BLACK. 

your  hands;  there,  there;  d — n  these  stinking  bottles!  I'm 
qualmish  only,  that's  all.  Go,  Clary,  go,  there's  a  good  girl, 
and — hem!  ahem! — bring  me  a  glass  of  brandy."  Clara, 
like  a  dutiful  child,  did  as  she  \vas  bid.  The  patient  .-wal- 
lowed the  medicine  as  a  patient  ought,  and  the  medicine  did 
as  all  medicine  ought ;  it  cured  the  patient,  who  immediately 
walked  briskly  three  times  up  and  down  the  room,  and  then — 
they  went  to  dinner. 

In  the  evening  of  that  day,  the  admiral  was  closeted  with 
old  Bagsby,  his  lean  legal  adviser. 

"  The  young  fellow's  fortune  equal  to  yonr's!"  exclaimed 
the  man  of  law.  "  It  can't  be,  admiral." 

"  Why  not,  sir?"  asked  the  veteran.  "  His  father,  you 
know,  was  a  West  India  merchant;  and  a  British  merchant, 
let  me  tell  you" 

"  Pshaw!"  said  the  other;  "  but  here's  a  young  fellow  who 
is  anything  but  a  merchant — living  like  a  lord.  I  don't  sup- 
pose he  has  been  to  the  counting-house  half  a  dozen  times 
since  his  father's  death." 

"  Hem!  perhaps  not,"  replied  the  admiral;  "  however,  the 
simple  state  of  the  case  stands  thus: — He  is  not  to  receive  a 
penny  with  Clary — but,  whatever  I  choose  to  settle  upon  her 
and  her  heirs,  he  offers  to  double." 

"  The  devil!"  exclaimed  old  Bagsby. 

"  And  that's  not  all,"  continued  the  admiral;  "  we  talked 
of  sums — plain,  point-blank  sums.  Clary's  my  only  child, 
said  I — and,  for  myself — with  my  habits — if  I  shouldn't  get 
afloat  again,  and  I  don't  see  why  not — my  pay's  enough. 
One  hundred  thousand,  said  I — Make  it  two,  says  he,  if  you 
like,  admiral.  Suppose,  says  I — it  will  save  the  legacy  duty, 
when  the  old  hulk  goes  to  pieces — suppose  we  say  three — 
Done,  says  he,  I'll  make  it  six." 

"  The  Lord  have  mercy  upon  us!"  exclaimed  Bagsby. 

"  What's  the  matter?"  asked  the  admiral. 

"Matter!"  muttered  the  lawyer;  hem!  matter!  why,  here 
have  I,  for  more  than  half  a  century,  been  rising  early  and 
sitting  up  late,  making  the  most  of  everything  that  came  in 
the  way;  spending  nothing — saving — scraping  together,  in 
hopes  that  in  my  old  age" 

"  Pshaw!"  said  the  admiral,  "  you've  feathered  your  nest 
well  enough,  I  know — so,  no  grumbling — but,  to  business. 
How  long  will  it  take  to  prepare  the  deed  ?" 

"  Ah!  ah!  ahem!  Let  me  see.  In  a  case  of  such  mo- 
ment, my  dear  sir,  everything  should,  you  know,  be  arranged 


THE    GENTLEMAN    IN    BLACK.  47 

with  extreme  caution.  The  amount  is  immense — it  depends 
much  upon  the  nature  of  the  property — most  likely  some  of 
the  young  gentleman's  is  in  the  West  Indies — and — ahem! 
you  know,  my  good  sir,  how  precarious  such  sort  of  posses- 
sions are;  particularly  in  time  of  war,  when  the  enemy's 
fleets  are  wandering  upon  the  sea,  the  Lord  knows 
where" 

"  The  Lord  knows  where,  indeed!"  exclaimed  the  veteran; 
"  I  only  wish  we  could  catch  'em  at  it — '  wandering,'  as  you 
call  it — that's  all;  but,  pshaw!  d — n your  six-and-eight-penny 
opinions  about  the  war.  See  the  lad  yourself  on  the  busi- 
ness— my  money's  all  in  the  Bank  of  England,  and  the  papers 
are  in  my  strong  box  at  Hamsley's." 

The  next  morning,  Charles  Maxwell,  having  supplied 
himself  with  the  amount  specified,  from  the  usual  source, 
called  upon  the  admiral;  and  they  had  scarcely  exchanged 
salutations,  when  Bagsby  was  announced. 

"  By  the  by,"  asked  the  veteran,  "  has  the  old  fellow 
called  upon  you  this  morning,  with  his  bag,  and  papers,  and 
tape,  and  the  devil  knows  what?" 

"  Who,  sir?"  Charles  inquired,  in  a  tone  of  alarm,  which 
raised  a  momentary  suspicion  in  the  mind  of  his  father-in-law 
elect. 

"  My  lawyer,  sir — Mr.  Bagsby,"  was  the  grave  reply. 
"  He  was  to  call  on  you  respecting  the  subject  of  our  conver- 
sation yesterday,  and  is  now  here  in  the  room  below,  by  my 
appointment,  in  order  to  arrange  the  business." 

"  Oh!  is  that  all?"  said  Charles,  smiling;  "let  us  have  Him 
up,  by  all  means." 

Accordingly,  the  man  of  parchment  (to  which  epithet  the 
texture  of  his  skin  alone  might  have  afforded  him  a  fair 
claim,)  was  shown  into  the  presence  of  his  two  most  wealthy, 
and,  of  course,  most  worshipful  clients;  towards  whom  he 
came  bowing,  and  bending,  and  grinning,  and  worshipping, 
in  their  persons,  his  idol  MAMMON,  in  a  manner  sufficiently 
ludicrous.  After  a  thousand  apologies,  and  such  sort  of  tom- 
foolery, they  proceeded  to  business,  and  the  man  of  law  in- 
quired the  name  of  young  Maxwell's  professional  adviser,  with 
whom,  he  felt  no  doubt,  he  should  be  happy  to  act,  on  the 
present  occasion. 

"  Ay,  ay!  like  a  pair  of  shears,"  quoth  the  admiral ;  "  ha! 
ha!  e'l!  Bagsby — cut  what  comes  between,  eh?  not  each 
other,  eh :" 


48  THE    GENTLEMAN     IN    BLACK. 

"  1  never  employed  a  lawyer  since  I  was  of  age,"  said 
Charles. 

"  What!"  exclaimed  old  Bagsby,  as  his  rigid  frame  started 
into  a  perpendicular.  ("  A  sensible  young  fellow!"  thought 
the  veteran.)  "  Hem!  ahem!  ahem!"  repeatedly  repeated 
poor  Bagsby,  ere  he  could  proceed  to  state  a  few  of  the 
various  reasons  why  it  was  "  advisable  to  be  advised,  pru- 
dent and  circumspect,  needful,  and  absolutely  necessary,  &c«, 
&c.,  in  all  such  and  the  like  and  similar  sorts  and  kinds  of 
cases,  where  and  wherein,  and  in  and  concerning  which  pro- 
perty, &c.,  &c.,  &c.,  and  all  such  sort  of  thing,  was  various  and 
of  numerous  descriptions  and  kinds,  both  as  it  regarded  and 
concerned  estimated  value  of  estates,  &c." 

Here  Charles,  haxing  been  too  much  accustomed  of  late  to 
nave  his  own  way,  became  weary  of  listening,  and  interrupted 
the  speaker  with  a  most  ungracious  yawn,  followed  by  a 
"Pish!"  Having  thus  "  caught  the  speaker's  eye,"  as  well  as 
stopt  his  tongue,  he  proceeded. 

"  There  can  be  no  difficulty  in  the  present  case.  I  be- 
lieve, admiral,  we  understand  each  other.  I  agree  to  settle 
on  your  daughter  the  same  amount  as  you  think  fit  to  do 
yourself." 

"  Exactly,"  replied  the  veteran;  "  and  I,  to  save  legacy 
duty,  mean  to  settle  all  I  have,  excepting  this  house 
and  grounds,  which  are  at  an  easy  distance  from  the  ad- 
miralty.'' 

"  Nothing  can  be  clearer,"  said  Charles.  "  The  sum  is,  I 
think,  three  hundred  thousand." 

"  Exactly  so,"  said  old  Haultaught;  "  and" — coolly  con- 
tinued Charles,  taking  out  his  black  morocco  leather  pocket- 
book,  "  there — there  is  the  money." 

"  By  the  trident  of  Neptune,  and  the  old  girl  that  holds  it!" 
shouted  the  admiral,  "  you're  a  noble  fellow.  If  you  hadn't 

a  brass  farthing,  Clary  should  never But,  I'm  afraid,  my 

dear  boy,  you  have  been  too  hasty.  Have  you  made  your 
calculations  about  housekeeping,  and  so  on?  I  should  not 
like  you  and  Clary  to  shorten  sail;  and,  if  we  lock  up  such  a 
sum  as  this,  perhaps" 

"  It  will  make  no  sort  of  difference,  I  assure  you.  I  shall 
never  miss  it." 

"  Wonderful!"  thought  old  Bagsby;  "  I'll  try  and  sret  a 
<hare  in  some  West  India  concern  myself." 

T'.ie  "  instrument"  was  immediately  drawn  up,  "  signed 


THE    GENTLEMAN    IN    BLACK  49 

sealed,  and  delivered,"  b}r  the  admiral  and  Charles,  as  their 
own  "  act  and  deed;"  and  the  next  act  was  marriage. 

Then  away  flew  time.  Year  rolled  away  after  year. 
The  old  admiral  went  to  sea  again,  and  had  a  glorious  brush 
or  two,  "  short  and  sweet;"  and  gave  Monsieur  a-  smack  in 
"  the  chops  of  the  channel."  Then  he  went  to  bask  himself, 
like  a  dry  old  fish,  as  he  was,  on  India's  sunny  shore;  from 
.  whence,  after  the  benefit  of  a  seven  years'  fry,  he  returned, 
considerably  increased  in  wealth.  It  was  a  proud  day  for 
the  whole  party  when  the  veteran  landed  at  Portsmouth, 
and  Charles  and  Clara  presented  to  him  their  first-born,  a 
fine  boy,  then  eight  years  of  age,  in  a  middy's  uniform;  and 
his  sister  Clara,  a  beautiful  little  wax  doll,  as  her  mother  had 
been  before  her.  So  at  least  thought  Admiral  Haultaught, 
and,  declaring  that  she  was  too  beautiful  and  delicate  as  yet 
to  be  played  with  by  a  rough  sailor,  he  seized  upon  the 
sturdy  boy  as  his  lawful  prize;  and  many  a  ride,  and  walk, 
and  gambol,  and  frolic,  and  quarrel,  and  reconciliation,  had 
they  together,  both  in  town  and  country,  till  the  youth  wa? 
old  enough  to  serve  tiis  king.  Then — it  was  a  hard  task, 
but  it  must  be  the  case  with  us  all — they  parted  for  the  last 
time. 

"  Charles  Haultaught  Maxwell,"  said  the  old  admiral, 
-  *•  remember  that's  your  name,  my  dear  boy.  Fear  God  and 
honour  your  king.  Look  at  the  British  flag;  let  it  be  your 
business  to  see  that  respected  wherever  it  floats,  either  in  a 
cock-boat  or  a  first-rate;  rnind  that,  and  d — n  all  politics. 
Leave  them  to  the  lubbers  ashore.  Remember  poor  Nelson's 

last  signals Well,  well,  I  know  you  will.  But  mind — if 

ever  you  disgrace  your  name,  d — n  me  if  I  leave  you  a 
copper  bolt." 

With  this  and  the  like  advice  the  poor  old  gentleman 
blessed  his  beloved  grandson,  till  he  delivered  him  into  the 
hands  of  an  old  messmate,  and  saw  his  young  hero  borne 
away  upon  the  green  billows  from  Yarmouth  jetty,  in  the 

jolly  boat  of  H.  M.  S.  the  D .  With  his  glass  he  stood 

watching  her  progress  till  all  hands  were  safely  on  board. 
"  He  walks  the  quarter-deck  now  for  the  first  time,"  thought 
the  veteran;  and  a  thousand  images,  created  by  memory  and 
fancy  alternately,  kept  him  company  all  the  way  to  London, 
as  he  sat  reclined  back  in  his  travelling  carriage.  A  few 
months  terminated  the  old  gentleman's  mortal  career.  His 
effigies  graced  Westminster  Abbey,  and  his  Eastern  wealth 
formed  another  immense  accumulating  fund,  which  hi«  son- 


50  THE    GENTLEMAN    IN    BLACK. 

in-la\v,  for  reasons  we  wot  of,  felt  not  so  delighted  with  as  \s 
usual  in  such  cases.  The  domestic  felicity  of  Charles  and 
Clara  was  perfect. 

The  termination  of  our  late  long-protracted  war  brought 
our  happy  couple  to  the  afternoon  of  life.  Young  Charles 
was  a  tine  young  lieutenant,  just  of  age,  and  with  property 
and  interest  amply  sufficient  (to  say  nothing  of  certain  musty 
Gazettes)  to  expect  "  to  be  posted,"  &c.,  &c.,  as  soon  as 
"  propriety  would  allow."  Clara  was  all  that  the  fondest,  ay, 
or  the  wisest  (and  the  terms  are  not  always  synonymous, 
we  fear)  of  mothers  could  desire.  Had  the  old  admiral 
lived,  he  might  have  altered  his  opinion — or,  perhaps  he 
might  not.  The  fortune  which  he  left  her  failed  not,  how- 
ever, to  throw  around  her  every  charm  and  grace — a  dazzling 
halo,  in  which,  like  insects  round  a  flame,  a  thousand  gay, 
thoughtless,  and  fluttering  ephemera  sported,  and  were 
blinded,  scorched,  and  "  damaged"  for  their  temerity. 

But  another  year  passed,  and  Charles  Maxwell,  that  is, 
the  "  old  original"  Charles  Maxwell  of  our  tale,  underwent 
a  sad  and  melancholy  alteration.  Long  fits  of  mental  absence 
occupied  him  when  in  society.  No  more  the  well-turned 
repartee  or  mirthful  jest  issued  from  his  now  pale  lips. 

Seldom  he  smiled — and  then  in  such  a  sort, 
As  though  he  smiled  in  scorn,  to  think  that  he 
Could  e'en  be  moved  to  smile  at  anything. 

"  Neque  vigiliis  neque  quietibus  sedari  poterat"  as  Sallust 
says  of  Cataline.  In  plain  English,  he  was  never  easy, 
sleeping  or  waking.  The  consequence  was,  that  in  a  very 
short  space  of  time  ("  colos  ei  exsanguis,  fcedi  oculi,  citus 
modo,  modo  tardus;  prorsus  in  facie,  vulluque  vecordia 
inerat")  he  got  horribly  pale,  ghastly  about  the  eyes,  and 
became  a  disagreeable,  shuffling,  unsociable,  uncertain  sort 
of  a  fellow;  more  like  a  poor  lunatic,  who  fancied  himself 
hunted  by  devils,  than  a  well-bred,  easy-going  country 
gentleman. 

The  reason  for  this  cnange  was,  that  he  had  been  calcu- 
lating, and  had  discovered  that,  by  the  tenor  of  his  engage- 
ment with  the  Gentleman  in  Black — whom,  by  the  way,  we 
nope  our  readers  will  take  especial  care  not  to  forget — during 
the  silent  and  almost  imperceptible  lapse  of  nearly  eight- 
and-twenty  years,  his  tribute  had  increased,  from  the  minute 
matter  of  a  moment,  to  an  annual  demand  of  two  thousand 
three  hundred  and  thirty  days  and  a  fraction,  calculating 


THE    GENTLEMAN    IN    BLACK.  51 

each  day  at  sixteen  hours  in  length,  and  all  to  be  spent  in 
sin.  Such  was  the  "  demand"  for  sin  in  the  then  current 
year.  It  was  true  that  there  had  been  no  grumbling  on  the 
part  of  his  ally  or  adversary;  and  supplies  of  money,  when 
required — which  had,  however,  rarely  been  called  for  of  late — 
were  never  refused.  There  were,  doubtless,  past  sins  suffi- 
cient to  keep  all  square,  "  as  per  agreement,"  hitherto;  but 
Charles  could  not  flatter  himself  that  he  had  sufficient  "  on 
hand"  to  make  up  an  amount  of  four  thousand  six  hundred 
and  six  days  for  the  next  year,  and,  for  that  which  was  to 
follow,  nine  thousand! — all  was  utter  darkness  and  despe- 
ration. Yet  all  this  arose  from  agreeing  to  sin  for  one  single 
moment  "  per  annum."  Reader,  take  care  you  never  make 
such  a  compact. 

Charles  had  been  to  Paris  the  year  before,  hoping  to 
discover  the  fate  of  his  fellow-victim,  Louis  Desonges.  The 
usual  mode  of  finding  rich  individuals,  through  their  bankers, 
was,  of  course,  in  the  present  instance,  unserviceable,  and  the 
police  knew  no  such  person.  As  the  crisis  of  his  fate,  how- 
ever, was  equally  near  with  that  of  Charles  Maxwell,  it  is 
fit  we  should  run  over  the  principal  events  of  his  life,  from 
the  commencement  of  the  Revolution  to  the  end  of  the  war, 
or  rather,  wars,  issuing  therefrom,  like  snakes  from  a  Medusa's 
head. 

During  the  Reign  of  Terror,  his  riches  gained  him  both 
friends  and  enemies;  conducted  him  into  prison,  and  pur- 
chased him  out;  he  found  that  reformers  from  the  crowd,  or 
canaille,  are  ever  vain  and  venal.  The  ignorant  make  sad 
use  of  power,  the  proper  extent  of  which  they  cannot  com- 
prehend; so  they  stretch  it,  as  children  will  a  piece  of  Indian 
rubber,  till  it  snaps  back  upon  them  and  hurts  their  fingers, 
and  then  they  are  glad  to  let  it  fall  out  of  their  hands. 
Those  among  the  French  evanescent  governors  who  had  any 
nous,  made  their  observations,  and  most  attentively  mar/ted 
out  those  whose  plethoric  purses  seemed  to  expose  them  to 
the  danger  of  temptation,  and  falling  off  from  their  new  (not 
as  we  have  it,  true)  allegiance. 

Louis  wept  over  the  misfortunes  of  his  country,  and,  be  it 
said  to  his  honour,  the  riches  of  which  he  had  in  so  strange  a 
manner  acquired  the  command,  were  frequently  devoted  to 
the  relief  of  those  whose  property  had  been  swept  away 
in  the  tumult.  Among  others,  the  Comte  de  Tien  a  la  Cour, 
and  his  lovely  daughter,  Emilie,  were  indebted  to  him  for  their 


52  THE    GENTLEMAN    IN    BLACK. 

safety,  and  for  his  company  in  their  flight  into  Switzerland 
where  he  settled  them  in  a  beautiful  and  retired  situation 
near  Vevay,  and  on  the  borders  of  the  blue  lake  Leman. 
With  certain  resolutions  in  his  head,  away  then  posted 
Louis  towards  the  Rhine,  and  on  the  banks  thereof  discovered 
and  purchased  an  ancient  baronial  chateau  and  estate,  toge- 
ther with  its  title. 

"  How  wretched  a  thing  it  is  to  have  to  do  with  lawyers !" 
exclaimed  Louis  to  the  ci-devant  baron,  whose  honours  he 
was  purchasing,  and  who  might  literally  have  been  said 
(according  to  the  French  term,  manger  ses  biens)  to  have 
"  eaten  up"  his  estate:  "  they  are  dreadfully  slow." 

"  Humph!"  said  the  Baron  de  Braanksdorfischen,  "  I've 
sometimes  found  them  too  quick." 

"  When  you  were  not  in  a  hurry,  then,  I'll  be  bound  to  say," 
observed  Louis. 

"  Ay,"  was  the  reply.  "  Do  you  purpose  living  here, 
Monsieur." 

Louis  replied  in  the  negative. 

"  Then,  perhaps,  you'll  allow  me  to  shoot,  and  hunt,  and 
fish  on  the  estate?"  asked  the  baron. 

"  With  all  my  heart,"  replied  Louis. 

"  Then  I'm  a  happy  man  again!"  observed  the  baron; 
"  and  so,  d — n  the  old  rook's  nest,  and  the  stones  thereof,  and 
the  owls,  and  the  ivy,  and  the" 

"  Douctrnent!  Monsieur  le  Baron,"  said  Louis,  fearing 
that  a  sort  of  Ernulphian  curse,  in  which  the  purchaser  might 
be  included,  was  commencing:  "  it's  hardly  fair  to  wish  them 
any  ill  now." 

"  If  I  had  never  seen  them,  it  would  have  been  all  the 
better,"  replied  the  other;  "  but  I  must  needs  be  like  other 
fools;  and  so  I  '  kept  up'  my  title  by  knocking  it  down. 
Well,  never  mind  now — you  say  I  may  sport  here?" 

"  Ay,  and  live  here  too,  as  before,"  said  Louis,  "  as  long 
as  you  think  fit." 

"  The  devil  I  shall !"  exclaimed  the  other.  "  Then  I  don't 
care  a  straw  for  what's  past." 

And,  on  that  day,  it  was  the  Baron  of  Braanksdorfischen's 
good  will  and  pleasure  to  get  drunk;  from  which  it  will  be 
an  easy  matter  for  the  reader  to  guess  what  sort  of  a  man 
he  was. 

Louis  completed  his  purchase,  and  returned  with  his  new 
title  to  Switzerland,  where  he  was  most  gracefully  and  most 


THE    GENTLEMAN    IN    BLACK.  53 

graciously  received  by  Eniilie  and  her  parent.     And  there—- 
the very  recollection  of  the  place  makes  one  poetical — 

Upon  the  margin  of  that  azure  lake, 

Whose  limpid  waves  come  rippling  to  the  shore, 

He  vow'd  he  loved  her  for  her  own  dear  sake, 
And  she  believed — what  could  a  lady  more  ? 

They  talk'd  and  saunter'd  by  that  water's  edge ; 

They  talk'd  and  saunter'd  on  the  mountain's  side; 
'Mid  foliage,  whispering,  took  and  gave  a  pledge — 

We  say  not  what,  for  love  was  aye  their  guide. 

And  he,  as  usual,  led  them  Lord  knows  where. 

*  *  *  *  # 

Notwithstanding  divers  exquisitely  polished  expressions  of 
gratitude  and  friendship,  which  M.  le  Comte  de  Tien  a  la 
Cour  had,  from  time  to  time,  addressed  to  M.  Louis  Desonges, 
there  was  ever  a  most  superb  stiffness  added  to  his  usual 
perpendicularity,  whenever  the  said  Desonges  ventured  upon 
anything  like  familiarity  with  Emilie  in  his  presence.  Like 
Juliet's  father,  he  thought  there  was  something  in  a  name; 
and  so,  when  Louis  assumed  unto  himself  the  title  of  Baron 
de  Braanksdorfischen,  he  was  pleased  to  be  extremely 
gracious.  As  for  the  matter  of  pedigree,  Louis  was  of  a 
very  respectable  family,  and  felt  no  sort  of  compunction  at 
the  ingenuity  or  research  of  a  certain  tracer  of  genealogies, 
who  had  undertaken,  in  consequence  of  weighty  consider- 
ations propounded  unto  him,  to  delineate  a  tree  of  con- 
sanguinity. The  new  Baron  was  somewhat  startled  to  find 
that  his  great  grandfathers  and  great  grandmothers  were 
related  to,  and  connected  with,  several  of  the  most  ancient 
houses  in  France;  but,  he  was  determined  to  believe,  if 
possible;  and  that  is  a  great  matter  in  such  cases.  The 
document  had  its  expected  influence  upon  the  Comte,  for  it 
v  as  drawn  out  and  blazoned  in  due  heraldric  terms  and 
forms;  and,  perhaps,  he  likewise  was  resolved  to  believe. 
As  for  Emilie,  like  most  of  her  sex,  when  once  fairly  in  love, 
it  wouldjhave  been  much  the  same  thing  to  her  had  her  lover 
changed  his  name  to  Bourreau;  for  she  was  much  of  Juliet's 
way  of  thinking,  that  "  a  rose  with  any  other  name  would 
smell  as  sweet." 

"  My  dear  M.  le  Baron,"  said  M.  le  Comte,  "you  must  be 
well  aware  of  the  sincerity — I  might  almost  say,  the  devotion 
?2 


54  THE    GENTLEMAN    IN    BLACK. 

of  my  attachment  and  friendship.  You  are  the  only  man 
upon  the  face  of  the  earth,  his  Catholic  Majesty  alone 
excepted,  from  whom  I  would  have -deigned  to  accept  any 
sort  of  assistance  in  the  present  state  of  things;  but,  my 
daughter  is  now,  alas!  the  sole  hope,  the  only  remaining 
branch  of  an  ancient  and  most  illustrious  house;  and,  indeed, 
I  am  glad  to  find,  what,  however,  I  never  doubted,  that  you 
really  are  so  closely  allied  to  the  Montmorencies,  the  Gram- 
monts,  and  the  Choiseuls.  When  we  return  to  France, 
I  have  no  doubt  that  I  can,  from  my  connexions  at  Versailles, 
have  the  affair  of  succession  arranged;  and  that  my  title  will 
descend  when  I  am  gone,  wrhich,  in  the  common  course  of 
things,  cannot" 

"  I  beseech  you,  my  dear  M.  le  Comte,"  exclaimed  the 
Baron  of  Braanksdorfischen,  "  to  spare  my  feelings.  I  trust 
you  will  long  live  to  enjoy  your  title  and  estates.  I  see  no 
reason  why  you  should  not  marry  again,  and  that  they  should 
descend  in  regular  succession  to  your  heirs  male." 

"  Nor  I  neither,  M.  le  Baron,"  said  the  Comte;  "  it  is  a 
good  idea.  We  will  see  about  it;"  and  forthwith  he  advanced 
to  a  large  mirror,  and  paid  his  respects  to  his  own  respect- 
able figure  reflected  therein. 

The  marriage  took  place  immediately,  and  was,  like  most 
other  marriages  wherein"  money  is  abundant,  conducted  in 
such  a  manner  as  to  give  an  extravagant  idea  of  the  happi- 
ness of  the  "  happy  pair."  The  most  delightful  part  of  the 
affair,  however,  was,  that  Louis  and  Emilie,  now  the  Baron 
and  Baroness  of  Braanksdorfischen,  were  really  happy,  and 
continued  so  for  a  considerable  period  of  time:  they  say  for 
nearly  a  month.  After  that,  when  the  dream  of  rapture  and 
perfect  bliss  had  vanished,  they  lived  much  like  other  people, 
and  each  marvelled  occasionally  that  they  should  have  been 
so  silly  as  to  expect  absolute  perfection  in  any  human  being. 
They  passed,  however,  many  pleasant  months  in  Switzerland: 
but  the  leaven  of  the  revolution  spread,  and  Italy  was  their 
next  refuge — then  Malta — then  to  France — La  belle,  la 
cjlori?use.  All  was  right  again,  for  Paris  was  as  gay  or  gayer 
than  ever;  so  they  fell  down  and  worshipped  the^images 
which  faction,  or  war,  or  fashion  happened  to  set  up,  and 
thereby  proved  they  were — born  in  France,  the  land  of 
liberty  and  equality.  In  the  profession  of  the  latter  egulitc, 
they  have  been  most  singularly  consistent;  for,  whether  ho 
has  had  a  triumvirate,  a  consular,  a  regal,  or  an  imperial 


THE    GENTLEMAN    IN    BLACK.  f>;> 

government,    Monsieur   has   always   been    equally   faithful. 
"  Oest  egal"  quoth  he,  on  all  occasions. 

When  Napoleon  was  very  short  of  money  once,  the 
Baron  de  Braanksdorfischen  was  said  to  have  waited  upon 
Talleyrand;  and  it  was  hinted  that  the  elevation  of  the 
Baron  de  Braanksdorfischen  to  the  peerage  of  France,  under 
the  title  of  Le  Comte  D'Ormalle,  was  closely  connected  with 
that  visit.  Be  that  as  it  may,  from  that  period  our  French 
hero  attained  a  degree  of  popularity  which  he  kept  as  long 
as  he  thought  proper.  His  fam  ly  affairs  went  on  comfort- 
ably enough,  since  Emilie  never  had  occasion  to  ask  him 
twice  for  money,  and  he  never  grumbled  at  her  expenditure. 
Like  his  quondam  friend,  Charles,  he  had  two  children,  a 
boy  and  girl,  who  grew  up  most  promisingly;  being  allowed 
to  do  all  that  seemed  good  in  their  own  eyes,  and  to  draw 
money  "  at  discretion."  Whether  they  spent  it  discreetly, 
is  another  affair,  and  one  of  which  their  parents  took  no 
cognizance. 

The  glory  of  the  great  empire — the  emperor  and  king — 
the  young  King  of  Rome — the  march  of  mind,  and  the 
march  of  armies — the  invasion  of  that  accursed  Angleterre — 
the  merits  of  David— the  occupation  of  Spain — the  Talma — 
the  Arcs  des  Triomphes — les  grande  battailes — Venus  de 
Medicis — the  coronation — bridges  over  the  Seine — charters 
— oaths  of  allegiance — operas — calernbourgs — Apollo  Belvi- 
dere — the  overthrow  of  kingdoms,  and  the  summersets  of 
Monsieur  Martin,  the  bear  in  the  botanic  gardens,  and  of 
MM.  Pieddouble  at  the  Port  St.  Martin — and  such  sort  of 
important  matters,  equally  and  alternately  occupied  Monsieur 
le  Comte  de  Tien  a  la  Cour,  the  old  grey-headed  perpen- 
dicular grandfather  of  the  family,  Monsieur  le  Comte 
D'Ormalle,  the  Comtesse,  and  the  two  young  sprigs  of  rising 
nobility. 

Then  away  flew  time,  and  with  it  away  flew  many  of  the 
above,  and  other,  and  such  like  matters — the  emperor  was 
off,  that  is,  not  on,  his  throne;  though  he  kept  his  title  with 
a  tenacity  which  must  have  been  truly  gratifying  to  his 
veteran  military  associates,  who  could  not  but  have  felt 
convinced,  that  when  he  by  nominal  honours  rewarded  their 
services,  he  bestowed  what  he  conceived  to  be  for  himself 
most  desirable.  Away  flew  the  Apollo  and  Venus,  and  the 
king  of  Rome,  for  the  march  of  mind  and  of  armies  had  taken 
u  new  direction;  the  invasion  of  England  was  postponed 


56  THE    GENTLEMAN    IN    BLACK. 

sine  (tie;  David  brushed  with  his  brushes  to  Brussels,  for 
fear  of  a  brush  from  the  sweeping  broom  of  the  law;  and  the 
glory,  the  imperishable  glory  of  the  empire — its  military 
glory — that  might  have  remained  to  have  embalmed  the 
names  of  les  braves,  who  fought  and  bled,  and  devoted  them- 
eclves  for  their  country,  though  a  tyrant  were  their  leader: 
but  oaths  of  allegiance,  sworn  and  forgotten,  reiterated  and 

broken,  tarnished  their  hard-earned  laurels:  and it  is  a 

pity  \\\-dt  filles  de  chambre -<md  coffee-house  politicians  should 
have  cackled  so  much  about  the  matter,  and  that  obscure 
demi-soldes  should  claim  for  all,  what  some  might  yet  demand, 
and  will  doubtless  receive  from  posterity. 

The  Comte  D'Ormalle  had  shared  those  honours  which 
riches  may  ever  command  among  the  sons  of  men,  whether 
under  kingly,  imperial,  or  republican  governments.  He 
hailed  the  return  of  Louis  le  Desire;  yet  some  thought  his 
coffers  were  opened  during  the  hundred  days — the  gentleman 
in  black  would  scarcely  have  made  any  objection;  but  it  is  a 
point  upon  which  we  dare  not  speak  positively. 

When  Napoleon  "  caught  a  Tartar"  at  Mont  St.  Jean,  and 
all  was  settled,  the  Comte  D'Ormalle  settled  likewise  at  his 
Chateau  D'Ormalle,  on  the  banks  of  the  Loire,  where  a 
settled  melancholy  appeared  to  prey  upon  him,  and  he  betook 
himself  to  wandering  to  and  fro,  like  an  unquiet  spirit;  for  he, 
like  Charles  Maxwell,  had  taken  his  calculations,  and  was 
ever  balancing,  and  thinking  of  a  monastery,  and — the 
gentleman  with  the  black  coat,  Geneva  cloak,  &c.,  &c. 
To  these  meditations  the  Comtesse  left  him  undisturbed,  and 
pursued  the  now  indispensable  frivolities  of  the  metropolis, 
where  she  became  the  nucleus  of  a  most  ancient  coterie  of 
the  most  ancient  names  and  dignified  personages;  who, 
Utterly  despising  the  mushroom  race  of  nick-named  nobility, 
congregated  where  they  could  safely  vent  the  spleen  which 
they  had  for  so  many  years  been  bottling  up,  while  in  a  state 
of  expatriation. 

Having  thus  seen  that  the  Comte  D'Ormalle  was  not 
in  better  plight  than  Charles  Mtuypell,  it  becomes  our  duty 
to  state  their  ulterior  proceedings  under  such  appalling 
prospects. 


THE    GENTLEMAN    IN    BLACK.  57 


CHAPTER  V. 

IN  the  long  hours  which  poor  Charles  Maxwell  now 
habitually  spent  in  solitude,  he  indulged  himself  yet,  occa- 
sionally, in  the  dreams  and  visions  of  hope;  and,  in  one  of 
these  reveries,  he  luckily  recollected  old  Bagsby,  the  late 
admiral's  lean  legal  adviser,  of  whose  shrewd  exploits  he  had 
heard  many  a  singular  tale. 

"  If  the  old  fellow  is  yet  living,"  thought  he,  "  and  has 
been  going  on  steadily  in  the  same  way,  ever  since  I  saw 
him  last,  he  must,  by  this  time,  be  a  match  even  for  the 
gentleman  in  black  himself." 

With  such  reflections,  he  lost  no  time,  but  posted  to  the 
old  fellow's  chambers  in  Lyon's  Inn,  where  he  sat,  half 
buried  among  piles  of  dusty  books  and  papers,  like  a  lion 
ant  at  the  bottom  of  his  inverted  cone  of  crumbling  sand, 
ready  to  seize  on  any  poor  animal  unconsciously  approaching 
its  verge. 

Bagsby  was  delighted  to  see  our  hero;  for  he  had  not 
forgotten  the  three  hundred  thousand  pounds.  So  he  shook 
him  cordially  by  the  hand,  entreated  him  to  be  seated, 
adjusted  his  own  wig,  stirred  up  the  four  square  inches  of 
smoking  cinders  huddled  together  in  one  corner  of  the  grate, 
bowed  and  grinned,  rubbed  his  hands  and  his  spectacles, 
bowed  and  grinned,  and  bowed  and  grinned  again. 

At  length  Mr.  Maxwell  did  '•  a  tale  unfold,"  which  had  an 
effect  almost  as  tremendous  as  that  described  by  Shakspeare, 
in  the  well-known  passage,  the  commencement  of  which  we 
have  just  quoted.  But  old  Bagsby  had  been  so  long  accus- 
tomed to  intricate  cases,  that,  let  him  be  thrown  where  he 
might,  he  always  contrived,  as  it  were,  like  a  cat,  to  fall  upon 
his  legs,  and  find  some  place  to  cling  to.  So,  after  a  long 
pause,  he  thus  addressed  his  client. 

"  Hem!  my  dear  sir,  this  is  an  ugly  piece  of  business. 
Hem — I  have  certainly  heard  of  this  gentleman  in  black — 
hem — I  remember  once  fancying  that  I  saw  him:  but  we 
have  many  strange  characters  to  deal  with  in  the  way  of  our 
profession — perhaps  I  was  mistaken.  Hem!  But,  however, 
to  the  point — I  think  I  understood  that  you  could  vet  obtain 
supplies — money,  I  mean,  to  any  amount?" 

"  I  can  demand  any  amount,"  replied  Mr.  Maxwell;  "and, 
were  it  not  immediately  forthcoming,  the  contract  would  then 


58  THE    GENTLEMAN    IN'     BLACK. 

be  broken  on  his  part:  an  event  of  which  I  have  very  little 
expectation." 

"  Hem! — hem — hem,"  resumed  Bagsby:  "  in  all  such  and 
the  like  cases,  my  dear  sir,  money  has  a  great  effect — it  is,  in 
short,  one  of  those  things  without  which  even  the  law  of  the 
land  itself,  beautiful  and  simple  as  it  is,  cannot  always  take 
its  course.  But — really — ahem — this  is  a  very  ugly  piece  of 
business!  very  ugly.  However,  we  must  not  despair.  It  is 
astonishing  what  a  free  and  judicious  application  of  money 
will  sometimes  effect:  arid,  as  you  don't  mind  expense,  I 
really  think  we  may  perhaps  contrive  to  pull  you  through." 

"  Is  it  possible?"  exclaimed  poor  Mr.  Maxwell;  "  my  dear 
sir!  I  cannot  express  my  gratitude.  But,  I  remember  you 
were  the  admiral's  friend — Oh,  why  did  I  not  come  to  yo'J 
before  ?" 

"  Never  mind,"  rejoined  Bagsby;  "  better  late  than  never. 
Eh? — Hem.  But — to  business — no — no,  I  haven't  lived  all 
these  years  to  be  frightened  at  a  little  intricacy.  Many  a 
tangled  case  have  I  unravelled.  So,  hem — in  the  first  place, 
allow  me  to  inquire  if  there  were  any  witnesses  to  this  sin- 
gular contract  ?" 

"  None,"  ejaculated  Mr.  Maxwell,  gasping  the  first  breath 
of  hope;  "  no,  my  dear  friend,  there  was  nobody  but  myself 
and — you  know  who." 

"  Excuse  me  for  interrupting  you,"  said  the  dark  genHe- 
man,  stepping  forward  from  a  gloomy  corner  of  the  room, 
with  his  black  coat,  black  waistcoat,  black  Geneva  cloak, 
black  bag,  black-edged  papers  tied  with  black  tape,  aid 
all  the  rest  of  his  black  paraphernalia;  "  it  may,  perhaps, 
save  you  much  trouble  if,  in  this  early  stage  of  business" 

"  Early,  indeed!"  exclaimed  Bagsby,  somewhat  irritated  at 
the  idea  of  so  good  a  thing  being  snatched  out  of  his  hands; 
"  why,  we  have  not  yet  commenced  proceedings: — but,  I  btv 
your  pardon,  sir;  pray  take  a  seat." 

The  gentleman  in  black  sat  himself  down  at  the  table,  ana 
drew  forth  from  his  black  bag  a  bundle  of  black-edged 
papers,  tied  with  black  tape,  which,  in  a  most  business-like 
way,  he  proceeded  to  untie  and  lay  before  him. 

"  You  know,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Maxwell.  "  there  were  no  wit- 
nesses to  the  transaction." 

"  /know  there  were,  sir,"  replied  he  of  the  Geneva  cloak, 
with  a  malicious  smile;  "  see,"  he  continued,  showing  a  paper 
to  the  lawyer,  who  immediately  discerned  two  signatures,  as  of 
M'ituesses,  which,  hosvever,  he  could  not  exactly  decipher. 


THE    GENTLEMAN    IN    BLACK.  59 

"  Hem!"  said  Bagsby,  adjusting  his  spectacles,  and  giving 
his  wrinkled  old  mouth  a  peculiar  twist,  which,  as  it  had  no 
particular  meaning  in  itself,  might  be  intended  to  conceal  anv 
outward  indication  of  what  was  passing  within.  "  Ahem! 
allow  me,  sir,  just  to  run  my  eye  over  the  paper  a  moment. 
Ay,  ay — I  see — Charles  Maxwell — ah — hem — ern — bless 
me,  what  a  cold  morning  it  is.  Pull  the  bell,  Mr.  Maxwell 
Here,  Jerry,  my  boy,"  he  continued,  addressing  a  lean, 
spider-like,  daddy-long-legs  sort  of  an  old  man,  who  answered 
the  summons;  "  bring  some  coals,  Jerry — Ahem!  Let  me 
see,  where  did  I  leave  off!" 

"  You  may  as  well  leave  off  where  you  are,"  observed  the 
owner  of  the  black-edged  papers;  "  keep  your  coals  to  warm 
your  chilly  old  drum-sticks,  after  I'm  gone — I'm  not  so  green 
as  to  suffer  you  to  keep  that  writing  in  your  own  hands  after 
the  fire  is  lighted." 

"  What  do  you  mean  to  insinuate,  sir?"  asked  old  Bagsby, 
waxing  wroth;  "  a  man  of  my  standing  and  respectability, 
sir!  Do  you  dare  to  say  that  I  would  be  guilty  of  so" 

"  Precisely  so,"  answered  the  other,  coolly. 

"  Sir,  sir,"  stammered  the  lawyer,  "  I'd  have  you  to  know 
there  is  such  a  thing  as  law." 

"  Precisely  so,"  observed  he  of  the  black  bag;  "  I  do 
know  it." 

"  And  justice,"  continued  Bagsby. 

"  That's  more  than  you  know,"  retorted  the  other. 

"  And  damages,"  roared  the  incensed  lawyer. 

"  Your  clients  have  long  been  convinced  of  the  truth  of  that 
position,"  drily  observed  the  dark  gentleman,  taking  a  pinch 
of  blackguard. 

Old  Bagsby's  rage  was  at  its  acme,  and  he  swore  by  all 
the  furies  and  devils  in  the  infernal  regions,  that  he  would 
commence  an  action  for  defamation  forthwith.  But  his 
antagonist  took  it  into  his  head  to  relate  a  certain  fable 
concerning  a  smoky  kettle  and  its  black  neighbour,  a  boiling 
pot;  whereat  the  lawyer,  like  a  snail,  drew  in  his  horns,  being 
assisted  in  the  retiring  movement  by  Mr.  Maxwell,  who 
requested  that  his  business  might  not  be  neglected. 

"  In  mercantile  matters,  I  remember,"  said  our  hero, 
"  that,  when  any  difficulty  occurred,  we  used  to  refer  it  to 
arbitration."  •; 

"  Good,"  observed  the  gentleman  in  black;  "  choose  your 
own  men,  and  I'll  meet  them." 

"  That's  fair,  however,"  observed  Charles  Maxwell. 
4 


60 


THE    GENTLEMAN    IN    BLACK. 


"  Humph!"  said  Bagsby,  "  we  must  first  find  fit  men  for 
the  purpose: — but,  ten  to  one,  they'll  make  a  bungling  affair 
of  it.  There's  nothing  like  regular  legal  proceedings,  straight 
forward,-as  a  body  may  say." 

"  Precisely  so,"  observed  the  dark  gentleman,  "  may 
sa>/; — but  what  you  call  straight,  is  as  crooked  as  my  tail." 

To  a  reference,  however,  they  at  length  agreed.  Mr. 
Ledger  WM  appointed  as  the  umpire;  and,  on  that  day  week, 
the  gentleman  in  black  was  to  give  them  the  "  first  meeting" 
at  old  Bagsby's  chambers.  When  this  matter  was  settled 
the  lawyer  ventured  to  hint  that  he  should  find  it  necessary, 
or  rather  think  it  most  consistent  with  the  interest  of  his 
client,  to  take  the  opinion  of  counsel  on  two  or  three  points 
which  had  already  occurred  to  him;  and,  as  money  was  no 
object 

"  Very  true,"  observed  Charles,  feeling  in  his  pocket,  and 
finding  he  had  omitted  to  bring  the  needful  with  him;  "  how 
very  thoughtless!  However,  sir,  directly  I  get  home,  I'll 
send  a  hundred  pound  note  or  two" 

"  Pooh!"  said  the  gentleman  in  black,  taking  out  his  black 
morocco  pocket-book,  "  how  many  will  you  have — only  say; 
just  to  save  trouble,  you  know — it's  all  the  same  between  us."' 
So  he  gave  Charles  Maxwell  five  notes  of  one  hundred 
pounds  each,  which  he  immediately  paid  to  the  lawyer,  who 
immediately  marked  them  with  his  own  mark;  and  then  the 
meeting  hoke  up. 

On  the  appointed  day,  Mr.  Ledger,  our  hero,  and  the 
gentleman  in  black,  were  all  punctual  to  a  minute  in  their 
attendance  at  old  Bagsby's  chambers.  The  wary  lawyer 
having  taken  his  seat,  and  opened  the  business  of  the  dav, 
the  gentleman  of  the  black  Geneva  cloak  presented  his 
account,  with  a  sardonic  grin,  to  the  individual  who  had 
expressed  his  inclination  to  settle  it.  Ledgei  cast  his  eye, 
in  a  hurried  and  agitated  manner,  at  the  amount,  and, 
addressing  himself  to  Maxwell,  inquired  if  it  could  possibly 
be  correct? 

The  poor  gentleman  cast  his  dim  and  floating  eyes  up  and 
down  two  or  three  sides  of  the  tremendous  paper,  which  was 
carried  over  and  over  and  over,  with  dismal  tautology;  he 
could  deny  nothing;  and  many  of  the  items  he  but  too  well 
remembered.  His  heart  sank  within  him. 

"  Give  me  leave,"  said  Bagsby,  stretching  forth  his 
lean  arm. 

"  By  all  means."  replied  the  gentleman  in  black 


THE    GENTLEMAN    IN    BLACK.  61 

"  Don't  be  alarmed,  Mr.  Maxwell,"  continued  old  Bagsby; 
"  I  have  no  doubt  we  shall  pull  you  through:"  and  he  prosed 
a  few  minutes  over  the  account,  whilst  his  opponent  sat 
smiling  most  contemptuously. 

"  You  don't  specify  here,"  said  old  Bagsby,  "  in  what 
manner  these  various  sums  were  paid;  whether  in  specie,  or 
bills,  or  notes." 

"  Pshaw!"  replied  the  gentleman  in  black,  "  that's  per- 
fectly immaterial;  the  amount  is  stated  explicitly  enough." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,"  rejoined  the  lawyer;  "  it  makes 
all  the  difference  in  the  world." 

"  Bank  notes  are  a  legal  tender,"  quoth  he  of  the  black 
Geneva  cloak. 

"  No  doubt;  but  we  are  not  met  here  to  discuss  rigmarole 
theories  about  the  paper  currency,  which  neither  you  nor  I 
can  make  head  or  tail  of." 

"  Precisely  so;  I  confess  myself  bothered  on  that  point. 
It  is  most  delightfully  mystical." 

"  Well,  well,  to  business,"  said  the  man  of  law,  somewhat 
testily.  "  Do  you  mean  to  give  us  a  clear,  specific  account, 
or  not,  with  the  dates  of  payment,  number  of  the  notes  paid, 
and  every  particular?  If  not,"let  me  tell  you" 

"  Pooh — pooh !"  replied  the  other,  "  it  is  not  worth  while 
for  you  and  I  to  quarrel  about  a  few  sheets  of  paper."  So 
saying,  he  dipped  his  hand  into  the  huge  black  bag,  which 
he  had  placed  on  the  ground,  between  his  legs,  and  drew 
from  thence  an  immense  bundle  of  black-edged  papers,  tied 
with  black  tape,  which  he  then  threw  across  the  table,  ex- 
tlaiming,  "  There,  there  it  is — made  up  to  yesterday.  I  hope 
that  will  satisfy  you." 

The  veteran  of  the  law  conned  over  some  of  the  items, 
hemming  and  coughing  as  he  went  along;  and  then,  without 
uttering  a  word,  arose  and  placed  the  bundle  in  his  iron 
chest,  which  he  carefully  locked;  then  put  the  key  in  his 
pocket,  and  resumed  his  seat  at  the  table. 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  the  gentleman  in  black,  who  had  been 
attentively  watching  him,  "  what  are  we  to  do  next?" 

"  We  must  proceed  to  business,"  replied  old  Bagsby;  and, 
ringing  a  little  silver  bell,  that  stood  beside  him,  in  came  old 
Jerry. 

"  Jeny,  my  boy,"  said  his  master,  "show  in  that  gentleman 
from  the  city." 

"  From  the  city!"  exclaimed  Ledger;  "  who  is  he?  Re- 
member, Mr.  Bagsby,  1  should  not  like  to  be  seen" 


62  THt    GENTLEMAN    IN     BLACK. 

"  Never  fear,"  said  the  lawyer;  "  show  him  up,  Jerry." 
Accordingly,  a  well-dressed  young  man  was  ushered  into  the 
room. 

"  Well,  Mr.  Crabseye,"  said  old  Bagsby,  "  are  you  as  con- 
fident as  ever?" 

"  It  is  impossible  we  should  be  mistaken,"  was  the  reply. 

"  This  gentleman,"  continued  the  lawyer,  laying  his  spec- 
tacles on  the  table,  and  looking  triumphantly  around  him, 
"  this  gentleman  comes  from  the  Bank  of  England,  and  has 
examined  the  five  one-hundred  pound  notes  which  yon  sir," 
looking  at  the  gentleman  in  black,  "  paid  to  my  client  here, 
this  day  week;  which  he  immediately  paid  to  me,  and  which 
I  immediately  marked.  This  gentleman  pronounces  them  to 
be  forgeries." 

"  There  is  not  a  shadow  of  a  doubt  thereof,"  observed 
Mr.  Crabseye. 

"  Show  me  the  difference  between  one  of  them,  and  one  of 
your  own  issuing,"  said  he  of  the  black  Geneva  cloak,  which 
moved  not  a  wrinkle  on  the  present  occasion. 

"  Pardon  me,  sir,"  replied  Mr.  Crabseye,  "  it  is  well  we 
have  some  private  mark,  that  such  gentlemen  as  you  are  not 
exactly  aware  of: — for  upon  my  word,  as  it  is,  it  would  some- 
times puzzle  the  devil  himself  to  tell  the  difference." 

"  Precisely  so,"  observed  the  gentleman  in  black. 

"  Well,  sir,"  inquired  the  lawyer,  "you  don't  mean  to  den} 
paying  those  five  notes  to  Mr.  Maxwell?" 

"  Not  I,"  was  the  reply. 

"  Then,  Mr.  Crabseye,  you  know  I  have  your  affidavit, 
ay — here  it  is — '  I,  Micros  Crabseye' — ay — and  the  more 
needful  papers  too" — and  again  the  old  lawyer  tingled  his 
ancient  bell;  and  again  popped  in  the  head  of  his  ancient 
Jerry,  who  exchanged  a  significant  nod  with  his  master,  and 
drew  himself  back  again.  Then,  anon,  came  stalking  in  a 
portly-looking  man,  followed  by  two  athletic  figures,  who 
looked  most  marvellously,  as  though  they  could  not  under- 
stand a  joke. 

"  There,  gentlemen,  is  your  prisoner,"  moved  Mr.  Crabs- 
eye,  and  old  Bagsby  seconded  the  motion,  both  pointing  to 
the  gentleman  with  the  black  coat,  waistcoat,  Geneva  cloak, 
bag,  and  various  other  black  appendages,  who  sat  wonderfully 
composed,  after  his  first  fidget. 

The  officers  of  justice  proceeded  to  handcuff  their  pri- 
soner, who  smiled  thereat  with  a  most  supercilious  smile; 
and,  when  they  had  completed  their  operations,  begged  that 


THE    GENTLEMAN    IN    BLACK.  63 

tnev  would  do  the  same  kind  office  for  his  friend  Mr.  Max- 
weft,  who,  for  a  series  of  years,  as  he  could  prove  by  credit- 
able witnesses,  and  even  by  Mr.  Crabseye  himself,  had  been 
in  the  habit  of  passing  forged  notes.  His  poor  victim  felt  as 
though  his  death  warrant  was  signed,  for  he  knew  that  at 
his  own  house  many  would  be  found,  and  that  all  his  trades- 
people must,  with  one  accord,  bring  forth  witnesses  against 
him,  if  they  produced  any  of  the  notes  he  had  paid.  Even 
old  Bagsby  twisted  about  his  lower  lip  and  jaw,  most 
portentously,  for  many  seconds;  but,  recovering  his  com- 
posure, exclaimed,  "  Don't  be  alarmed,  my  dear  Mr.  Max- 
well; I  told  you  we  should  be  able  to  pull  you  through  this 
business,  ugly  as  it  is."  Then,  turning  to  the  pinioned 
gentleman,  he  continued,  "  what  you  say,  sir,  may  be  very 
true,  for  aught  I  know:  but  we  have  forms,  sir,  forms  of  law, 
which  must  be  attended  to." 

"  Precisely  so;  I  perceive  it;"  and  he  glanced  at  his  bolted 
arms. 

"  In  the  first  place,  you  must  take  your  oath."        • 

"  I — what?"  exclaimed  he  of  the  black  bag. 

"  Your  oath,  sir,"  resumed  the  lawyer;  "  and  here  is  a 
Testament." 

The  gentleman  in  black  hereat  drew  his  hands  from  their 
cuffs  as  easily  as  from  a  pair  of  gloves,  took  a  pinch  of  black- 
guard, and  said,  that  if  that  were  the  case,  he  must,  from  a 
scruple  of  conscience  respecting  swearing,  decline  to  proceed 
any  further  in  the  affair.  He  then  burst  into  what  seemed . 
to  Mr.  Crabseye  and  his  satellites  to  be,  under  existing 
circumstances,  a  most  unseemly  fit  of  merriment  and  laugh- 
ter, swearing  (notwithstanding  his  recent  scruples,)  that  old 
Bagsby  was  a  boy  after  his  own  heart,  and  wishing  he  might 
live  to  be  Lord  Chancellor! 

"  Gentlemen!"  said  the  man  of  sables,  after  his  unseason- 
able mirth  had  exhausted  itself,  "  I  am  sorry  that  this 
meeting  has  been  so  unpleasantly  broken  up.  I  must,  of 
course,  attend  these  good  people  (pointing  to  the  officers)  for 
the  present: — but,  make  your  own  appointment  for  the  final 
arrangement  of  what  we  first  met  to  discuss.  You  will 
manage  it,  Bagsby.  Cras  out  cum  velles — sed  ut  redirem 
hdc  nocte  fieri  nan  potest."  Which,  fair  reader,  simply 
means,  that  though  he  could  not  return  that  evening,  he 
would  attend  old  Bagsby  on  the  morrow,  or  at  any  other 
time;  and,  having  thus  spoken,  he  was  led  out  of  the  room  by 
his  attendant  genii. 


C4  THE    GENTLEMAN    IN    BLACK. 

No  sooner  was  the  door  closed  upon  them,  than  Bagsby 
congratulated  his  client  on  their  success  so  far.  "  Never 
fear,  sir,"  said  he,  "  we  shall  pull  you  through  this  business, 
ugly  as  it  is.  I've  another  poser  or  two  for  old  Sootikins. 
But  first,  my  dear  sir,  these  notes,  you  see,  are  worth  nothing, 
and  those  you  have  at  home" 

"  Shall  be  destroyed  this  instant,"  cried  our  hero,  snatching 
his  hat. 

"  Stop — stop  a  moment,  my  dear  sir.  If  you  do,  how  are 
we  to  proceed?  For  money,  you  know,  constitutes,  as  one 
may  say,  the  sinews  of  the  law." 

"  Never  fear,"  observed  Mr.  Ledger,  "  I've  brought  my 
cheque-book  with  me." 

"  What's  that'?"  inquired  Mr.  Maxwell. 

"  Lead  us  not  into  temptation,  but  deliver  us  from  evil!" 
exclaimed  Mr.  Ledger.  "  To  see  how  the  enemy  may 
'  pack  up,'  as  it  were,  a  man's  mind  in  darkness  and  igno- 
rance! That  a  British  merchant  should  not  know  what  a 
cheque-book  is!" 

"  Oh!  ay!  I  remember  now,"  said  Mr.  Maxwell;  "  it's  one 
of  the  books  we  used  to  hire  the  clerks  to  write  in." 

Mr.  Ledirer  sighed,  but  was  too  much  a  man  of  business  to 
leave  old  Bagsby  without  presenting  him  with  one  of  the 
magic  leaves  from  his  book,  which  was  received  most 
graciously.  He  then  accompanied  his  unfortunate  friend 
and  partner  to  his  elegant  mansion  in  Portland  Place,  the 
furniture  and  entire  arrangement  of  which  paralyzed  him  with 
astonishment. 

They  destroyed  the  forged  notes,  and  Mr.  Maxwell  was 
furnished  with  a  cheque-book,  and  instructed  in  the  use 
thereof;  which  appeared  so  easy,  that  he  wondered  why  he 
should  ever  have  preferred  any  other  way  of  raising  money, 
to  the  real  value  of  which  his  unlimited  supplies  for  so  many 
years  had  utterly  blinded  him. 

He  once  more  repaired  to  old  Bagsby's  chambers.  That 
worthy  practitioner  spoke  at  great  length  about  a  great 
variety  of  papers,  parchments,  and  deeds,  with  a  greater 
variety  of  hard  names  than  it  would  be  worth  while  to 
enumerate  on  the  present  occasion;  but  they  were  all  neces- 
sary— at  least  so  old  Bagsby  said. 

Another  meeting  was  appointed,  and,  as  before,  the  high 
contracting  parties  met  at  old  Bagsby's  office. 

After  the  usual  salutations,  the  gentleman  in  black  begged 
to  thank  the  lawyer  for  having  given  him  a  view  of  the 


THE    GENTLF.MAN     IN     BLACK.  65 

inside  of  Newgate,  "  at  the  doors  of  which,"  he  remarked, 
"  we  are  generally  much  incommoded  by  the  ejaculation  of 
certain  words  and  supplications  excessively  unpleasant  to 
our  ears; — many  of  my  oldest  friends  among  you,  whom  I 
snould  never  have  suspected  of  praying,  have  there  been 
visited  with  such  a  paroxysm  of  religious  feeling,  that  one 
would  imagine  they  had  served  a  regular  apprenticeship  to 
craw-thumping  and  psalm-singing.  We  m'cA-name  them  the 
doors  of  repentance.  But  I  beg  your  pardon:  let  us  lose  no 
time,  for  I  have  some  particular  business  on  the  Stock- 
Exchange  to-day — ice  have  a  new  company  or  two  starting, 
and  have  a  scheme  for  a  train-road  and  cast-iron  pavement, 
and  locomotive  engines  of  fifty  legion  power,  traversing 
between  us  and allow  me  to  present  you  with  a  Pro- 
spectus, Mr.  Bagsby." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,"  replied  the  lawyer;  "  I  don't 
admire  such  presents — hem!  I'd  much  rather  not  have  any 
share  in  your  concern — ahem! — I  beg  leave  respectfully  to 
decline." 

"  Well,  well— of  that  hereafter,"  said  he  of  the  black 
Geneva  cloak;  "  so,  to  the  matter  in  question.  Have  you 
anything  to  propose?" 

"  Why,  my  good  sir,"  replied  old  Bagsby,  "  we  have  been 
examining  your  account  against  my  worthy  client  here,  and, 
really — upon  my  honour — I  must  confess  it  all  appears  per- 
fectly clear — ahem!  It  is  an  ugly  piece  of  business." 

"  It  is  quite  correct,  sir,  I'll  warrant,"  said  the  other, 
rubbing  his  hands,  and  then  applying  himself  to  his  black 
snuff-box. 

"  Ahem!"  continued  Bagsby,  "  Ahem!  In  the  first  place, 
sir,  we  take  exception  to  every  item  paid  by  you  in  forged 
notes,  which  form,  with  some  trivial  exceptions,  the  whole  of 
what  my  client  has  received  in  England." 

"  Do  you  call  lh\sfair?"  asked  the  other;  "  he  might  have 
had  gold  if  he  had  chosen." 

"  It  is  legal — sound  law,"  replied  Bagsby,  firmly;  "  not  a 
penny  of  that  will  we  pay.  Bring  your  action;  we  are 
ready." 

The  gentleman  in  black  employed  himself  for  a  minute  in 
looking  over  his  own  copy  of  our  hero's  account,  where  he 
beheld  sums  amply  sufficient,  he  doubted  not,  for  his  purpose, 
which  had  been  advanced  to  the  unfortunate  man  in  Louis, 
Napoleons,  florins,  crowns,  ducats,  &c.,  &c.,  among  whicfe 
o  2 


GG  THE    GENTLEMAN     IN    BLACK. 

those  paid  for  antique  statues,  paintings,  vases,  medals,  &cn 
&c.,  were  delightfully  prominent. 

"  We  will,"  said  he,  at  length,  "  leave  the  legality  of  my 
paper  money  to  be  discussed  hereafter — or  even,  for  the  sake 
of  argument,  allow  your  position;  what  have  you  to  say  to 
the  rest,  advanced  in  hard  cash,  to  the  tune  of  some  million 
or  so  of  your  pounds,  in  France,  Switzerland,  Holland,  Ger- 
many, and  Italy?" 

"  This  comes,  as  I  said  before,"  ejaculated  Mr.  Ledger, 
"  of  visiting  Popish  countries." 

"  Let  me  tell  you,  sir,"  replied  Bagsby,  "  I  have  strong 
reason  to  suspect  that  the  whole  were  of  base  coinage." 

"  Prove  it,"  quoth  the  gentleman  in  black,  in  a  tone  of 
calm  defiance. 

The  lawyer  sat  humming  over  the  lots  of  parchments 
before  him,  like  a  bee  buzzing  over^nd  bussing  a  cluster  of 
flowers,  dipping  his  proboscis  alternately  into  each,  but 
settling  on  none.  This  disagreeable  silence  was  broken  by 
Mr.  Ledger,  who  addressed  the  gentleman  in  black  in  a 
manner  which  somewhat  startled  his  dinginess.  "  Sir,"  said 
he,  "  you  may  consider  the  matter  as  settled.  I  hold  mvself 
responsible  to  you  for  the  amount;  and  my  word,  sir,  is 
sufficient.  I  am  willing  now  to  give  you  a  cheque  for  halt 
the  sum,  and  the  remainder  shall  be  paid  as  soon  as  my  clerks, 
with  Mr.  Maxwell,  and  our  mutual  friend  Mr.  Bagsby,  shall 
be  satisfied  of  the  accuracy  of  your  account." 

"  Upon  my  word,  sir,"  replied  the  gentleman  in  black, 
while  his  countenance  assumed  a  decidedly  blueish  tint,  and, 
for  the  first  time,  he  had  recourse  to  his  black  cut-glass 
smelling-bottle  in  a  black  ebony  case.  "  Upon  my  word, 
Mr.  Ledger — really.  Ahem!  Your  way  of  doing  business 
is  so  different  from  what  I  am  accustomed  to,  that,  really 
upon  my  darkness,  I  don't  exactly  understand  it."  And  agait 
he  put  his  smelling-bottle  to  his  nose. 

"  We'll  pay  you  off  and  close  the  account — draw  a  line 
under  your  name,  and  so  cut  the  connexion  for  ever,"  said 
Ledger. 

"  My  dearest  sir,  my  much  honoured  and  highly  respected 
friend!"  whispered  old  Bagsby,  "  are  you  serious?  can  jrou 
positively  raise  the  wind  to  such  a  tune?  al^nost  a  million  and 
a  half?" 

"  I  have  said  the  word,"  replied  Mr  Ledger;  "  write  out 
a  receipt  in  full  of  all  demands." 


TIJr,     GENTLEMAN     IN     BLACK.  C7 

The  gentleman  in  black  hereat  waxed  extremely  fidgetty, 
and  felt  somewhat  like  a  huge  conger  eel  which  the  tide  has 
left  in  shallow  water,  among1  rocks,  and  which  is  attempting 
to  wriggle  itself  out.  Mr.  Maxwell's  heart  was  full,  and  so 
he  spake  next,  addressing  his  good  friend  and  partner,  Mr. 
Ledger;  thanking  him  most  sincerely  for  the  extraordinary 
offer  that  he  had  made;  hut  declining  altogether  to  accept 
thereof,  as,  let  the  consequence  he  to  him  what  it  might,  he 
was  determined  not  to  involve  his  friend  in  utter  ruin. 

"  Pshaw!"  replied  Mr.  Ledger;  "  if  you  had  attended  the 
counting-house  but  once  a  year,  just  to  look  at  '  the  balance 
sheet,'  you  would  know  better;  but  this  comes  of  going 
abroad,  and  travelling  in  Popish  countries.  What  do  you 
suppose  I've  been  about  with  your  share  of  the  concern  all 
this  while?  Make  yourself  easy,  my  dear  sir,  for,  after  this 
is  all  settled,  we  shall  still  he  found,  like  the  beginning  of  our 
old  friend's  parchment  clauses,  '  always  provided,  never- 
theless;'" and  the  worthy  old  merchant,  in  the  pride  and  joy 
of  his  heart,  laughed  at  his  own  joke,  and  gave  a  tareless 
glance  towards  the  gentleman  in  black,  who  had  been 
employed  with  his  blackguard  and  his  black  smelling-bottle, 
snuffing  and  smelling,  to  hide  his  disappointed  malignitv. 
But,  like  the  conger  eel  aforesaid,  he  soon  shifted  his  position, 
and,  addressing  the  lawyer,  said,  "  You'll  please  to  observe, 
sir,  that  I  have  not  given  up  my  claim  to  the  bank  notes' 
I  jnerely  wai"ed  the  discussion." 

"  Remember  Newgate,"  replied  old  Bagsoy. 

"  I  do,"  said  the  other,  recovering  himself;  "  and  have  no 
sort  of  objection  to  pass  another  night  there;  I  felt  myself 
quite  at  home,  I  assure  you.  But,"  he  continued,  turning  to 
Mr.  Ledger,  "  do  you  mean  to  pay  me  for  the  notes?" 

The  old  merchant  now,  in  his  turn,  looked  somewhat  con- 
fused; but  old  Bagsby  took  up  the  cudgels,  and  replied, 
"  We  will  do  nothing  of  the  kind." 

"  I  make  my  demand,"  continued  the  other;  "  and,  if  it  be 
not  complied  with,  you  must  abide  the  consequences." 

"  And  so  must  you,"  rejoined  Bagsby;  "  let  me  recom- 
mend you  to  accept  my  good  friend,  the  worthy  Mr.  Ledger's 
offer." 

"  I  want  none  of  your  advice,"  said  he  of  the  sables. 

"  Once  more,  as  the  mutual  friend  of  both  parties,"  con- 
tinued the  lawyer,  "  I  request  you  to  accede  to  so  fair  and 
honourable  a  pi  ^position." 

"  It  is  neithf    the  one  nor  the  other,"  said  the  gentleman 


68  THE    GENTLEMAN    IN    BLACK. 

in  black;  "  I  will  never  agree  to  it;"  and  he  looked  round 
with  an  assumed  air  of  carelessness,  in  his  turn.  The  dis- 
cussion was  like  the  game  of  see-saw — one  up  and  the  other 
down — but  old  Bagsby  had  yet,  as  he  whispered  Mr.  Ledger, 
his  "  great  gun"  to  fire.  Wherefore,  "  attention"  being 
called,  he  pulled  off  his  spectacles,  hemmed  three  par- 
ticularly loud  hems,  stiffened  himself  as  near  to  a  perpen- 
dicular as  mi<rht  be,  screwed  up  his  courage  to  the  "  stick'mg- 
place,"  and,  in  a  voice  as  stentorian  as  his  shrivelled,  whistling 
old  pipe  could  compass,  (sic  ore  locutus  est)  thus  spoke  he  to 
the  opposite  party. 

**  Then,  sir,  you  must  abide  the  consequences." 

"  With  all  my  heart,"  replied  the  other,  with  a  sneer;  "  do 
your  worst." 

"  Very  well,  sir,"  said  old  Bagsby;  "  then  listen!  I  shall 
immediately  throw  the  whole  business  into  CHANCERY." 

"  Into  where?"  cried  the  gentleman  in  black,  starting  upon 
his  legs,  upsetting  his  black  snuff-box  and  blackguard,  letting 
fall  his  black  smelling-bottle,  oversetting  his  black  bag,  and 
disarranging  his  black-edged  papers,  while  his  black  hair 
stood  erect  upon  his  head,  and  his  black  Geneva  cloak 
swelled  out  rigidly  behind,  as  though  thrust  forth  and  sup- 
ported by  a  mop-stick. 

"  Into  Chancery,"  repeated  old  Bagsby,  gravely;  "  Mr. 
Ledger  will  pay  the  money  into  Court." 

"  From  whence  it  will  never  come  out  in  my  time,"  roared 
the  gentleman  in  black,  like  a  lion  taken  in  the  toils.  "  No, 
no — I  accept  the  merchant's  offer." 

"  It's  too  late  now,"  observed  old  Bagsby,  sorting  out 
some  papers;  "  I  expect  a  Chancery  barrister  here  imme- 
diately." 

"  Then  I'm  off,"  said  the  other;  "  but  remember,  sir,"  he 
continued,  turning  to  Mr.  Ledger,  "  your  word  is  past." 

"  Ay,  ay,"  replied  the  wary  old  merchant,  "  and  you  shall 
be  paid  too — that's  my  way — always  better  pay  money  than 
go  to  law  about  it.  Know  the  worst  of  it  then.  But,  remem- 
ber, a  receipt  in  full  of  all  demands. 

"  Ay,  ay,"  said  the  other,  whose  nervous  system  was  dis- 
mally affected,  "  I'll  sign  anything." 

Accordingly,  much  to  the  surprise  and  gratification  of  our 
hero.  Mr.  Maxwell,  the  venerable  old  merchant  produced 
his  cheque-book,  and  wrote  a  cheque  for  half  the  amount; 
and  then,  with  exchequer  bills,  bonds,  and  a  tolerable  variety 
of  shares  in  mines,  railways,  gas-lights,  steam-washing, 


THE    GENTLEMAN    IN    BLACK.  69 

shaving,  shearing,  carding,  and  shuffling  companies,  (in  most 
of  which  the  gentleman  who  was  so  partial  to  a  pinch  of  the 
blackguiird,  had  already  a  share,)  he  made  up  the  other 
moiety.  A  regularly  verbose  receipt  in  full  of  all  demands 
was  drawn  up  by  old  Bagsby,  and  signed  by  the  gentleman 
in  black.  The  bonds  of  sinning  were  then  rent  asunder,  and 
committed  to  the  flames,  and,  once  more,  Mr.  Maxwell 
breathed  freely,  as  a  free  Christian  ought,  and  walked  arm- 
and-arm  with  his  partner  into  the  city.  The  gentleman  in 
black  pocketed  his  recovered  treasure,  (minus  about  five 
Hundred  pounds,  which  Bagsby  deducted  for  stamps,  &c.,  due 
from  the  receiver,  and  with  which  his  conscience  would  no't 
allow  him  to  charge  his  clients,)  and  with  it  went  upon  his 
favourite  haunt,  the  Stock  Exchange,  where,  report  says,  he 
laid  it  out  well,  by  enriching  some  "  Sir  Balaams"  of  the  present 
day,  and  giving  others  the  furor  for  becoming  suddenly 
opulent. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

WHILE  the  transactions  related  in  the  last  chapter  were  in  pro- 
gress in  London,  the  Comte  D'Ormalle,  better  known,  perhaps, 
to  the  reader  as  Louis  Desonges,  was  rusticating  at  his  chateau, 
on  the  banks  of  the  Loire;  and  had  become  as  dull  and  melan- 
choly as  it  was  possible  for  a  Frenchman  to  be. 

One  evening,  being  reduced  absolutely  au  desespoir,  he 
was  leaning  upon  the  battlement  of  an  ancient  terrace,  which 
overlooked  the  adjacent  country  for  many  a  league,  and  his 
eye  rested  upon  a  fresh  object,  at  the  entrance  of  the  neigh- 
bouring town.  "  What  can  it  be?"  thought  he.  In  his 
frame  of  mind,  any  sort  of  excitement  was  a  momentary 
relief:  so  he  went  for  his  telescope;  and  it  exhibited  to  him  a 
cross  of  the  mission,  recently  erected  in  the  place  of  one 
which  had  been  destroyed  at  the  revolution.  He  gazed  for 
awhile  thereon,  and  then  threw  himself  upon  a  seat,  and  be- 
came absorbed  in  thought  for  the  space  of  at  least  five 
minutes.  "  I  have  it,"  he  cried,  at  length;  "  I  will  send  for 
him  immediately;"  and,  starting  from  his  revery,  he  walked 
towards  the  chateau,  for  the  purpose  of  writing  a  note,  to  re- 
'request  a  visit  from  the  abbe  of  the  adjacent  monastery. 

"  It  would  be  a  useless  exposure  of  yourself,"  observed  the 


70  THE    GENTLEMAN    IN    BLACK. 

gentleman  in  black,  advancing  from  a  recess  wherein  the  statue 
of  some  sylvan  deity  was  placed:  "  it  could  not  possibly  have 
anyothereffect  than  frightening  theold  bigot  out  of  his  senses." 

"  Monsieur!"  said  Comte  Louis,  somewhat  sternly,  "  1  am 
unused  to  interruptions  of  this  kind.  Had  1  wished  for  your 
advice,  I  probably  might  have  requested  the  honour." 

"  Monsieur  Le  Comte,"  replied  the  gentleman  in  black, 
"  I  perceive  my  error,  and  beg  to  apologize;  but  the  fact  is, 
I  have  lately  been  in  England;  and  really,  one's  manners  are 
apt  to  be  influenced  by  the  sort  of  society  with  which  one 
mixes.  No  one  can  dislike  their  what  they  call  '  straight- 
forward' manner,  more  than  myself.  I  beg  ten  thousand 
pardons.  I  hope  I  have  the  honour  to  see  yonr  Excellency 
in  good  health,  and  that  the  amiable  Comtesse  and  your  dear 
young  people  are  well?" 

Although  there  was  little  in  all  this,  yet  there  was  some- 
thing so  graceful  in  the  manner  of  the  dark  elderly  gentleman, 
who,  by  the  by,  appeared  not  a  day  older  than  when  they  first 
became  acquainted,  that  the  Comte  changed  his  tone,  and 
politely  requested  him  to  walk  into  the  chateau.  Indeed, 
there  arose  a  vague  hope  within  him,  that  he  might  be  able  to 
make  some  sort  of  fresh  agreement,  and  mystify  his  dark  ally; 
for  he  had,  at  one  period,  dipped  a  little  into  the  arts  of 
Gallic  diplomacy.  But  it  seems  that  he  was  not  an  adept,  or 
else  that  the  gentleman  in  black  was  more  deeply  versed  in 
the  science;  for,  after  half  an  hour's  conversation,  he  still,  like 
Shylock,  seemed  averse  to  speaking  of  any  terms  not  specified 
in  the  bond. 

"  Then,"  said  Comte  Lonis,  "  I  shall  instantly  apply  to  the 
church,  for  there  is  no  time  to  spare." 

The  gentleman  in  black  shrugged  up  his  shoulders,  and 
took  snuff,  and  politely  handed  his  black  box  to  the  Comte, 
who  had  no  sooner  partaken  of  its  contents,  than  he  remem- 
bered some  very  fine  old  hock  which  was  in  his  cellar:  and 
forthwith  the  two  allies  began  a  sort  of  carouse,  and  the 
Comte's  spirits  became  unusually  elevated. 

"  You  may  rely  upon  it,"  said  the  dark  gentleman,  "  t'  at 
good  old  wine  is  the  most  certain  cure  for  lowness  of  spirits. 
I  really  feel  myself  much  better  already.  Don't  you?" 

"  Why,"  replied  the  Comte,  "  I  cannot  say  but  what  I  feel 
a  sort  of  a  kind  of  a" 

"  Precisely  so,"  added  the  gentleman  in  black,  "  and  so,  as 
you  were  saying  about  the  Comtesse" 

"  Excuse  me,"  said  Louis,  "  I  did  not  mention  her  name." 


TIIK  <.KNT i. I:\I\N   IN   BLACK.  71 

"  It's  all  the  same  thing,"  observed  the  other,  "  you  were 
thinking  of  her.  The  bottle  stands  with  you!  The  fact  Is, 
that  she  has  all  the  benefit  of  the  contract.  You  really  don't 
spend  anything  yourself:  and  it  would  save  a  vast  deal  of 
trouble  if  she  were  able  to  make  use  of  the  black  morocco 
pocket-book  herself.  If  you  will  obtain  her  signature  to  this," 
(here  he  produced  a  small  black-edged  scroll,  tied  with 
black  tape,)  "  it  might  be  a  great  accommodation  to  all 
parties.  But  the  bottle  stands  with  you!  It's  a  mere  matter 
of  form;  but  really  it  would  oblige  me:  and,  to  convince  you 
of  my  friendship,  I  pledge  myself  to  require  not  a  single 
moment  of  sin  from  you  for  the  next  seven  years,  if  you  will 
merely  do  me  the  favour  to  tell  her  to  sign  her  name  just 
here.  Nothing  can  be  more  liberal!" 

"  Seven  years!"  repeated  the  Comte,  "  hem — seven  years 
— there's  something  in  that !"  and  he  filled  his  glass  and  tossed 
it  off.  "  Seven  years — eh — well !  Let  me  see,  what  is  it 
that  I  am  to  do?" 

"  Nothing  more,"  replied  the  gentleman  in  black,  "  than, 
as  she  is  your  wife,  to  tell  her  to  put  her  name  to  this  paper." 

"  You  may  as  well  put  it  in  your  pocket  again,"  said  the 
Comte,  sighing,  "  she  has  not  done  anything  that  I  have  told 
hereto  do  for  these  ten  years." 

"  Bah !"  ejaculated  the  gentleman  in  black,  "  that  comes  or 
your  never  refusing  to  pay  her  bills.  Break  down  her  car- 
riages, and  get  somebody  to  burn  her  lace;  and  then  stop  the 
supplies,  and  I  will  engage — the  bottle  stands  with  you! — I'll 
engage  that  she'll  sign  anything  rather  than  be  without  those 
indispensable  articles." 

"  Hem,"  said  the  Comte,  "there  may  be  something  in 
that — (Hiccup) — You  are  a  devilish, knowing, extraordinary, 
dark,  old,  elderly,  gentleman,  and  I  protest  that  the  idea  of 
the  lace  is  excellent !  I'll  burn  it  all  myself." 

"  And  I'll  engage  to  find  plenty  more,"  observed  the  gentle- 
man of  the  black  silk  purse, "  for,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  1  was  the 
original  inventor.  She'll  not  be  the  first  woman  whom  I  have 
caught  in  that  sort  of  a  net.  Ha,  ha!  You'll  excuse  the  pun!" 

The  Comte's  recollection  was  not  now  perfectly  clear:  but 
it  seems  that  he  took  the  black-edged  paper,  and  put  it  into 
his  black  morocco  pocket  book,  and,  shortly  after,  fell  asleep. 

The  next  day  he  departed  for  Paris,  and,  on  his  arrival,  was 
informed  that  the  Comtesse  had  joined  a  party  of  her  father's 
friends,  in  an  excursion  to  Foritainebleau.  Thus  compelled 
to  remain  in  inaction,  he  began  to  feel  doubtful  whether  his 


72  THE    GENTLEMAN    IN    BLACK. 

once  mild  and  gentle  Emilie  might  be  persuaded  to  favoui 
him  with  her  signature.  He  felt  that  she  was  an  altered 
being,  and  little  like  the  lovely  partner  of  his  walks  by  Lake 
Lemau's  side:  but  there  arose  within  him  a  painful  conviction, 
that  he  had  not  been  altogether  without  change  himself;  and 
then  he  began  to  indulge  in  reminiscences,  which  ended  in 
the  ejaculation,  "  Poor  Emilie!"  and  he  resolved,  at  all 
events,  to  delay  his  intended  solicitations  for  her  signature, 
and  see,  in  the  meanwhile,  if  anything  could  be  accomplished 
in  his  favour  by  the  church. 

The  summons  of  M.  Le  Comte  D'Ormalle  had  not  long 
left  his  hotel,  ere  there  appeared  before  him,  in  consequence 
thereof,  "  a  little,  round,  Cat,  oily  man  of  God,"  Dodun  by 
name,  a  zealous  ecclesiastic,  who  was  always  happy  to 
wait  upon  both  poor  and  rich — particularly  the  latter.  He 
entered  Comte  Louis's  apartment  with  a  most  benignant  and 
refreshing  smile,  and  bowed  as  gracefully  as  it  was  possible 
for  such  a  droll  little  body  to  bow;  and  then,  obeying  the 
waving  of  the  Comte's  hand,  deposited  himself  upon  a  chair 
But  he  had  not  sat  long  thereon,  listening  to  Louis's  account 
of  the  past,  ere  his  "  too  solid  flesh"  began,  as  it  were,  to 
"  melt,  and  dissolve  itself  into  a  dew;"  and,  withal,  he  trem- 
bled exceedingly,  for  he,  like  old  Bagsby,  considered  the 
thing  to  be  "  an  ugly  piece  of  business." 

He,  however,  had  been  brought  up  in  a  very  different 
school  from  that  in  which  the  crafty  old  lawyer  had  acquired 
his  resources,  and  was  utterly  unable  to  divine  how  the  Comte 
might  be  "  pulled  through."  So  he  sat,  gasping  for  awhile, 
looking  unutterable  things,  and  then  rose  up,  or  rather  slid 
down,  from  his  chitir,  and  commenced  a  retreat  by  no  means 
so  graceful  as  his  entrance. 

"  The  old  fellow  was  right,"  sighed  Comte  Louis  to  him- 
self; "  I  have  merely  frightened  the  bigot  out  of  his  senses, 
and  rendered  myself  no  sort  of  service — but,  apropos" — and 
he  recollected  that,  in  all  former  difficulties,  gold  had  effected 
his  desired  pnrpose.  So  he  forthwith  apologized  to  the  poor 
ecclesiastic,  for  having  introduced  the  subject  without  a 
proper  prelude;  and  told  him,  that  he  could  not,  of  course, 
expect  the  interference  of  the  church,  before  he  should  prove 
himself  a  dutiful  son;  and,  moreover,  that,  as  he  had  immense 
sums  at  his  command,  he  thought  that  the  erection  of  a 
church,  or  an  abbey,  or  the  redemption  of  some  of  the  church 
lands,  might  be  acceptable,  as  a  token  of  his  sincerity. 

At  these  words  the  retrograde  movements  of  the  worthy 


THIS    GENTLEMAN    IN    BLACK.  73 

priest  were  suspended,  and  he  seemed  much  impressed  by 
such  evidences  of  sincere  contrition:  and,  anon,  he  ventured 
to  resume  his  seat,  and  the  Comte  prevailed  upon  him  to  out 
a  biscuit,  and  take  a  glass  of  champagne,  and  to  become  the 
bearer  of  a  few  rouleaux  pour  les  pauvres. 

Poor  Dodun  was  unused  to  Champagne;  he  had  never  be- 
fore been  the  bearer  of  so  much  money,  nor  ever  before  sat 
tete-a-tete  with  a  peer  of  France, '  or  any  man  capable  of 
building  abbies  and  cathedrals  at  his  own  expense;  and, 
certainly,  he  had  never  before  heard  such  a  tale  about  the 
gentleman  in  black.  Each  of  these  causes  might  have 
wrought  somewhat  upon  him;  but  their  united  effects  pro- 
duced a  singular  confusion  of  intellect,  insomuch,  that  he  took 
leave  of  the  Comte  with  many  expressions  of  respect,  and  a 
series  of  rolling  bows,  during  the  enactment  of  which,  he 
averred  that  the  power  of  the  church  was  immense;  that  he 
was  an  unworthy  and  humble  son  thereof:  but,  yet,  M.  Le 
Comte  might  rely  upon  him;  and  that,  in  short,  he  would 
repeat  his  visit  on  the  morrow. 

The  bewildered  priest  told,  that  night,  to  his  superior,  a 
most  wondrous  tale,  concerning  the  probable  erection  of  a 
new  abbey,  and  the  visible  bodily  appearance  of  the  gen- 
tleman in  black,  at  which  the  said  superior  shook  his  head, 
and  seemed  greatly  scandalized,  and  commanded  brother 
Dodun  to  retire  incontinently  to  his  cell:  and  brother  Dodun 
retired  accordingly,  and  was  grievously  troubled  in  his 
dreams,  until  the  morning,  when  he  endeavoured  to  persuade 
himself  that  the  whole  affair  was  a  dream  altogether;  and 
probably  might  have  succeeded,  but  for  the  presence  of  the 
f  ouleaux,  which  bore  too  weighty  an  evidence  to  the  contrary. 
So  he  took  them  to  his  superior,  who,  notwithstanding  the 
irregular  proceedings  of  the  last  evening,  received  them  and 
their  bearer  with  great  benignity;  for  brother  Dodun  was,  as 
his  inclination  to  obesity  indicated,  a  pleasant  and  harmless 
sort  of  fellow,  and,  withal,  an  agreeable  companion,  when  the 
brotherhood  met  in  the  refectory,  and  one  who  understood 
the  meaning  of  desipere  in  loco. 

When,  however,  the  poor  fellow  repeated  his  tale,  the 
dignitary's  countenance  underwent  a  considerable  change; 
and  he  called  for  holy  water  and  a  pair  of  scales,  wherewith 
the  pieces  of  gold  were  scrutinized,  and  each  found  to  be  per- 
fectly comme  ilfaut. 

"  We  have  no  right  to  refuse  that  which  is  given  pour  les 
pauvres,  said  the  abbe,  "  let  it  come  from  where  it  may." 
H 


74  THE    GENTLEMAN     IN     BLACK 

Dodun  bowed  assent. 

"  As  for  this  Comte  D'Ormalle,"  continued  the  other,  "  I 
feel  it  to  be  my  duty  to  wait  upon  him  myself.  It  appears 
to  me  that  he  is  much  to  be  pitied;  and,  I  have  no  doubt,  is 
a  very  amiable  man." 

The  abbe,  consequently,  paid  his  respects  to  our  hero,  and 
told  him  that  it  was  an  ugly  piece  of  business;  but  that  the 
church  was  very  powerful,  and  that  he  was  a  humble  son 
thereof;  yet  that,  nevertheless,  he  should  not  despair,  but  im- 
mediately proceed  to  consider  the  case. 

"  In  the  meanwhile,  1  should  advise,"  said  he,  "that  M.  Le 
Comte  would  take  into  consideration  the  state  of  the  chapel 
of  Notre  Dame  de  *  *  *  which  is  really  in  such  a  state  of 
dilapidation,  that  the  faithful  are  in  a  perilous  situation." 

"  Might  I  ask  the  favour  of  your  becoming  my  almoner  in 
such  a  case '("  asked  the  Comte,  taking  sundry  billets  de 
Banque  from  his  black  morocco  book;  "  I  request  it  as  a 
favour;  for,  upon  my  honour,  1  understand  nothing  of  archi- 
tecture." 

The  abbe  condescended  to  grant  the  boon,  and,  notwith- 
standing his  numerous  engagements,  promised  to  see  that  the 
money  was  properly  laid  out:  and  then  he  went  his  way,  well 
pleased  with  the  result  of  his  morning  visit. 

But  the  business  in  hand  was  of  too  great  importance  to 
be  settled  by  an  abbe;  therefore,  the  abbe  went  to  his  bishop, 
and  communicated  the  interesting  particulars  of  the  case; 
whereupon  the  bishop,  who  was  somewhat  advanced  in  vears, 
and  moreover  of  la  vielle  cour,  crossed  himself  in  divers 
directions,  and  shook  his  head,  while  his  whole  body  vibrated 
in  unison  thereunto.  When  he  was  somewhat  recovered,  he 
gave  it  as  his  opinion  that  such  transactions  had  been  but  too 
common  during  the  revolution,  and  in  the  absence  o£  the 
Bourbons. 

"  \\'e  must  take  time  to  consider  and  examine  into  the 
case,"  said  he;  "  it  will  probably  throw  some  new  light  upon 
many  of  the  affairs  of  that  dark  period  of  our  national  history, 
when  religion  existed  scarcely  even  in  name.  As  for  tho 
Comte  D'Ormalle,  I  have  no  doubt,  from  what  you  state,  that 
he  is  a  very  good  subject,  and  a  very  amiable  man.  Indeed, 
I  feel  much  interested  in  his  situation,  and  shall  make  a  point 
of  calling  upon  him;  therefore,  Monsieur  L'Abbe',  you  need 
not  give  yourself  any  further  uneasiness  or  trouble  in  the 
arlair.  What  you  have  done  is  exceedingly  proper  and 
judicious — you  may  now  leave  the  case  with  me." 


THE    GENTLEMAN    IN    BLACK.  /3 

The  bishop  forthwith  ordered  his  carriage,  and  paid  a  visit 
to  our  hero,  who,  malgre  the  honour  thus  bestowed  upon  him, 
felt  a  little  annoyed  at  the  transfer,  from  hand  to  hand,  of  his 
somewhat  urgent  business.  The  bishop,  however,  conducted 
himself  with  the  most  courtly  politeness,  and  assured  him, 
upon  his  honour,  that  it  was  a  very  ugly  piece  of  business; 
but,  that  the  power  of  the  church  was  immense,  and  that, 
though  he  himself  was  only  a  humble  individual  son  thereof, 
he  would,  nevertheless,  take  upon  himself  to  counsel  the 
Comte  not  to  despair,  particularly  as  he  was  possessed  of  the 
means  of  doing  good. 

"  There  never,  my  dear  Mons.  Le  Comte,"  continued  he, 
"  was  a  time  when  so  many  opportunities  of  evincing  sincere 
contrition  presented  themselves.  The  sacrilegious  estrange- 
ment of  the  church  lands  from  their  original  pious  and 
charitable  owners,  is  a  crying  national  evil.  1  think  thereof 
frequently  with  alarm.  There  is  an  abbey  now,  which  I  have 
the  best  means  of  knowing  the  value  of.  It  is  on  the  banks 
of  the  Loire,  and  formerly  its  revenues  amounted  to  more 
than  one  hundred  thousand  livres;  but  now  they  are  merely 
nominal — some  few  hundreds,  perhaps — as  the  best  and  largest 
portion  of  the  land  has  been  sold  and  re-sold,  half  a  dozen 
times,  and  changed  its  name  as  often;  and  now,  I  am  told,  it 
belongs  to  some  upstart  parvenu  of  the  revolution,  who 
bought  himself  a  chateau  and  title  somewhere  in  Germany: 
I  forget  the  name — Braanks-something — but  that's  of  little 
consequence.  We  have  made  some  overtures  to  his  agent, 
because  it  seems  that  the  fellow  himself  never  troubles  VMS 
head  about  business.  However,  I  won't  trespass  on  your 
time,  Mons.  Le  Comte.  I  merely  throw  out  a  hint:  nothing 
can  render  the  church  more  essential  service  than  the  re- 
demption of  her  lands.  It  is  far  better  than  wasting  money 
on  buildings  which  must  come  to  decay,  whereas  land  will 
always,  if  well  managed,  produce  the  means  of  supporting  the 
establishment  respectably,  in  all  its  departments.  I  merely 
offer  the  suggestion ;  you  will  reflect  upon  it.  As  for  the 
estate  1  mentioned — really  I  am  getting  old — I  have  forgotten 
the  name;  but,  if  you  can  devise  how  anything  can  be  effected, 
it  matters  little  to  me  individually.  At  my  time  of  life,  and 
with  the  accumulated  and  important  duties  of  my  arduous 
office,  one  has  other  matters  to  think  of;  but  my  secretary 
can  furnish  you  with  particulars.  I  will  have  the  honour  of 
waiting  upon  you  again  in  a  few  days;  and,  in  the  meanwhile, 
will  take  your  singular  case  into  consideration." 


76  THE    GENTLEMAN    IN     BLACK. 

Had  the  bishop  mentioned  any  other  estate  in  France,  pro- 
bably the  Comte  would  have  immediately  advanced  the  money 
for  the  purchase  thereof:  but  his  chateau  on  the  banks  of  the 
Loire,  with  all  the  improvements  and  plantations  thereon 
and  thereabout,  which  were  the  work  of  his  own  head  and 
hands;  the  "  Babylon  which  he  had  built;"  the  place  where, 
he  trusted,  that  his  sons  arid  his  sons'  sons,  for  many  genera- 
tions, would  dwell  long  and  respected,  in  happy  ignorance  of 
the  manner  in  which  the  family  estate  was  acquired;  that,  and 
and  the  thousand  dreams  thereon  dependent,  were  too  dear 
to  be  parted  from  in  a  moment. 

"  Besides,"  thought  the  Comte  to  himself,  "  I  know  not  if 
the  sacrifice  would  benefit  me  in  the  least.  In  all  probability 
the  old  bishop  would  act  like  the  abbe  and  the  monk;  and, 
having  effected  his  own  immediate  purpose,  hand  me  over  to 
some  archbishop  or  cardinal,  who,  in  his  turn,  might  transfer 
me  to  the  inquisition  or  the  Pope." 

Possibly  the  Comte's  amour  propre  might  have  been 
somewhat  wounded  by  the  epithets  used  by  the  bishop.  No 
man  likes  to  be  called  a  parvenu:  and  few  dislike  the  term 
more  than  the  man  who  has  lately  mounted  a  coronet.  When 
left  to  himself,  he  again  began  to  reflect.  The  idea  of  going 
to  England  had  frequently  occurred  to  him  before;  for,  to  do 
him  justice,  he  had  not  entirely  forgotten  his  former  youthful 
friend,  Charles  Maxwell;  he  had,  however,  generally  given 
up  the  scheme  as  hopeless,  from  a  notion  of  the  impossibility 
of  finding  an  individual  in  a  country  where  there  are  no  pass- 
ports, even  if  his  friend  were  in  England;  but  it  had  bee.n 
represented  to  him,  that  all  our  countrymen,  who  were  pos- 
sessed of  adequate  means,  or  who  were  not  engaged  in  some 
office,  were  travelling  and  scattered  abroad  in  all  quarters  of 
the  globe. 

"  No  doubt,"  said  he  to  himself,  "  Maxwell,  if  yet  living, 
has  bought  some  unpronounceable  title,  and  is  now  roaming 
through  Mesopotamia,  or  Siberia,  or  China,  or  Timbuctoo,  or 
Terra  del  Fuego,  or  to  the  North  Pole.  One  might  as  well 
think  of  finding  the  wandering  Jew  as  a  wandering  English- 
man. But  c'est  egall  1  may  as  well  go  to  London  as  remain 
here  while  the  bishop  is  taking  '  my  singular  case  into  con- 
sideration.' However,  I  will  first  see  Ernilie  and  the  chil- 
dren." 

Accordingly  he  went  to  see  his  children  that  day;  and,  if 
we  wrote  for  the  purpose  of  exciting  the  compassionate  feel- 
ings of  our  readers,  we  should  describe  the  particulars  of  his 


THE    GENTLEMAN    IN    BLACK.  77 

interview  with  each.  As  it  is,  suffice  it  to  say,  that,  ere  they 
parted,  he  pressed  them  to  his  bosom,  bent  over  them  and 
sighed;  and,  as  his  sumptuous  equipage  rolled  back  with  him 
into  Paris,  he  hid  his  face  in  his  hands,  groaned  in  spirit,  and 
wept  bitterly. 

Yet,  when  his  carriage  was  stopped,  for  a  few  moments,  in 
the  Boulevards,  by  a  crowd  collected  round  a  bear  and  three 
well-dressed  monkies,  the  Comte  D'Ormalle's  head  issued 
therefrom,  and  he  applauded  their  ape-ish  tricks  in  great 
apparent  glee,  and  threw  a  louis  to  the  Savoyard,  and  was,  in 
return,  applauded  by  the  populace,  who  made  way  for  his 
carriage,  and  shouted  "  Vive  Monsieur  Le  Due!" 

Next  day  the  Comtesse  came  back  from  Foiintainebleau, 
accompanied  by  her  most  perpendicular  father,  the  Comte  de 
Tien  a  la  Cour,  the  abbe  Beueton,  his  now  constant  com- 
panion, and  some  half-dozen  of  that  highly  favoured  class 
which  most  do  congregate  about  the  precincts  of  a  court, 
pluming  and  glorifying  themselves  in  the  name  of  ancestors, 
who  would  most  assuredly,  if  allowed  to  revisit  "  the  precincts 
of  the  cheerful  day,"  be  especially  ashamed  of  their  posterity 
It  seems  that  the  whole  party  were  particularly  fond  of  "  news," 
or,  as  we  familiarly  say,  "  gossiping;"  a  science  which,  with  the 
usual  adjuncts  of  "envy,  hatred,  malice,  and  all  uncharitable- 
ness,"  flourisheth  greatly  among  those  who  are  somewhat  cur- 
tailed in  their  means,  but  who  have,  or  fancy  they  have,  great 
claims  and  pretensions  to  respect  and  consideration. 

The  Abbe  Beueton  was  an  excellent  jackall  for  these  soi- 
disant  lions;  and  he  had  scarcely  been  an  hour  in  Paris,  ere 
he  picked  up  some  shreds  and  patches  of  the  Cornte  D'Ormalle's 
"  singular  case,"  from  the  brethren  of  brother  Dodun,  who  was 
reported  to  have  seen  divers  strange  visions,  and  to  have 
uttered  sundry  marvellous  and  portentous  outcries  during  his 
feverish  slumbers. 

These  "  odds  and  ends,"  the  Abbe  Beueton,  as  in  duty 
bound,  related,  in  confidence,  to  his  patron,  the  Comte  de 
Tien  a  la  Cour,  who  saw  fit  to  extend  that  confidence  to  his 
valet,  charging  him  to  examine  more  particularly  into  the 
business,  and  to  report  progress  at  the  next  sitting.  The 
valet  whispered  thereof  into  the  ear  of  the  Comtesse's  wait- 
ing woman,  who  was  quite  shocked  at  the  idea  of  something 
dreadful,  she  knew  not  what;  and  her  imagination  and  fear 
were  extremely  active  during  the  brief  interval  which  ex- 
pired between  the  communication  of  the  »alet,  and  her  being 
summoned  to  attend  the  Comtesse. 


78  THE    GENTLEMAN    IN    BLACK. 

"  What's  the  matter  with  you,  Lisette?"  asked  her  mistress. 
"  you  look  as  if  you  had  been  overturned.  Did  the  carriage- 
break  down?  where  was  it?  Has  Blousseau  brought  home 
that  dress  yet?  There — that  silk,  you  see,  is  all  manner  of 
colours.  They  have  lost  the  art  of  dyeing,  I  think,  or  the 
sun  is  getting  nearer  the  earth.  Ah !  that's  it.  1  remember 
Monsieur  Salamander's  lecture  —  we  shall  all  be  broiled. 
Don't  you  think  so?  Why  don't  you  speak?" 

"  I'm  afraid  we  shall  "  said  Lisette,  "  but  it's  a  good  thing 
to  have  a  clear  conscience.  Indeed  I  should  be  very  sorry 
to  leave  so  good  a  mistress;  but — here  he  comes!"  and  she 
began  muttering  a  prayer  and  handling  a  crucifix,  as  she  saw 
her  master  crossing  the  court. 

"  What  can  ail  the  silly  girl?"  exclaimed  the  Comtesse; 
"tell  me,  Lisette,  speak  out!  you  terrify  me!" 

"I  am  terrified  myself,"  sobbed  Lisette;  "oh,  the  Virgin! 
who  would  have  thought  it?  So  nice  a  gentleman!" 

"W7ho?  what? — what  are  you  talking  about?  1  insist  on 
knowing,"  said  the  Comtesse. 

Lisette  forthwith  revealed  all  she  had  heard,  and  a  little 
more;  whereby  it  appeared  that  the  Comte  was  haunted  by 
some  evil  spirit;  and  the  Comtesse  averred  that  she  felt  no 
doubt  the  report  was  perfectly  true,  for  she  had  written  to  him 
twice  for  money,  and  he  had  taken  no  notice  cf  her  letters. 

"  I  am  glad  you  bear  it  so  well,"  observed  Lisette;  "  for  my 
own  part,  if  the  devil  was  my  husband,  1  should  go  mad." 

"  You  are  mad  already,  1  think,"  replied  the  Comtesse. 

"  Oh  no,  indeed,"  said  Lisette,  "  I  wish  I  was;  but  it's  all 
true.  For  you  know,  my  lady,  where  an  evil  spirit  has  got 
into  a  man,  they  are  all  one,  and  therefore" 

"  Nonsense !  Then  all  men  are  devils,"  added  the  Com- 
tesse. 

"  Very  likely,"  observed  Lisette,  looking  demure;  "  I  am 
not  married,  however,  to  one — that's  some  comfort." 

"  Nay,  then,"  said  the  Comtesse,  "  if  you  are  thankful  be- 
cause you  are  not  married,  something  very  strange  indeed 
must  have  happened  to  you;  so,  sit  down  like  a  good  girl, 
and  tell  me  all  you  have  heard." 

Lisette  had  no  more  to  tell;  but,  thus  commanded,  she 
repeated  what  she  had  said  before,  with  certain  alterations 
and  additions  tending  to  support  her  theory,  that  when  a 
devil  had  possession  of  a  man,  the  said  man  was  thereby  trans- 
formed into  a  devil.  The  Comtesse,  who  had  never  before 
known  the  want  of  money  since  her  marriage,  had  been  not  a 


Till:    UENTLEMAN     IN     BLACK.  79 

little  nettled  ut  her  lord's  neglect,  and  felt  previously  disposed 
to  confer  upon  him  the  benefit  of  conjugal  discipline;  so, 
being  a  good  Catholic,  she  now  resolved  to  commence  with 
the  new  and  extraordinary  accusation  against  him,  which  had 
just  met  her  ear. 

When  she  entered  the  apartment  in  which  the  Comte  was 
sitting,  although  they  had  not  been  separated  for  more  than 
three  months,  he  arose,  and  hastened  towards  her  with  almost 
lover-like  alacrity,  and  was  much  surprised  at  her  recoiling 
from  his  embrace. 

"  My  dear  Emilie,"  said  he,  "  what  ails  you  ?" 

"  Oh,  Louis!  Louis!"  exclaimed  she,  raising  her  hand- 
kerchief to  her  eyes,  "  how  dreadfully  you  have  deceived  me! 
Are  you  not  ashamed  to  look  me  in  the  face?" 

"  Ashamed,  madame!"  exclaimed  the  Comte;  "  may  I  be 
permitted  to  have  the  honour  of  inquiring  what  you  can  pos- 
sibly mean?" 

"  May  I,"  asked  the  Comtesse,  drawing  Herself  up  into  as 
commanding  an  attitude  as  might  be,  "  may  I  be  permitted  to 
have  the  honour  of  inquiring  who  you  are  ?" 

"  Who  I  am!"  ejaculated  the  Comte,  and  glancing  aside 
at  a  mirror,  as  though,  for  the  moment,  dubious  of  his  own 
identity. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  Comtesse,  "  who  you  are.  Tell  me,  who 
are  you?"  and  she  held  her  handkerchief  and  fan  with  as 
much  formality  as,  in  ancient  paintings,  kings  and  queens  up- 
hold the  insignia  of  royalty,  for  she  had  resolved  to  get  up  a 
scene. 

"  Really  madame,"  replied  the  Comte,  "  there  is  something 
utterly  incomprehensible — I  had  almost  said  ridiculous — in 
all  this.  Will  you  do  me  the  favour  to  explain  ?" 

"  No,  sir,"  was  the  reply,  "  the  explanation  must  come 
from  you.  Once  more  1  ask  you,  who  are  you?  what  do  you 
call  yourself?" 

"  I  beg  to  be  excused  from  making  any  reply,"  said  he, 
somewhat  haughtily,  for  a  sudden  thought  struck  him.  He 
had  he>ard  of  ladies  who,  when  enervated  by  the  fatigues  of 
dissipation,  were  in  the  habit  of  reviving  their  drooping 
spirits  by  Eau  de  Cologne,  Rosolio,  &c.,  &c.,  and  sometimes, 
by  accident,  mistaking  the  proper  quantity.  It  was  a  painful 
and  degrading  reflection,  but  he  could  not  tell  otherwise  how 
to  account  for  a  lady's  not  knowing  her  own  husband. 
Therefore,  he  likewise  drew  himself  up  into  an  erect  position, 
and  added,  in  a  cold  and  constrained  manner,  "  it  is  quite 


80  THE    GENTLEMAN    IN    BLACK. 

useless,  Emilie — Madame,  to  continue  this  conversation  now. 
To-morrow,  perhaps,  you  will  he  more  yourself;  at  present, 
you  are  evidently  under  the  influence  of — of" 

"Of — of  what?"  exclaimed  the  Comtesse,  reddening  with 
anger. 

"  Oh,  nothing — nothing,"  replied  the  Comte,  cavalierly; 
"  I  suppose  it  is  the  fashion,  Madame — only  of — of — evil 
spirits." 

"  I  possessed  by  evil  spirits!"  ejaculated  the  Comtesse. 
"  You  are  pleased  to  be  facetious,  Monsieur!  But,  no!  I 
will  not  be  turned  from  my  purpose.  Listen!  (here  the  lady 
assumed  what  was  intended  to  be  an  awe-imposing  attitude) 
listen  and  know,  wretched  man!  that  thy  secret  is  discovered." 

"  What  do  you  mean?"  exclaimed  the  Comte,  and  a  sud- 
den qualm  rushed  across  his  mind,  as  he  thought,  that  between 
the  tnonk,  and  the  abbe,  and  the  bishop,  and  the  bishop's 
secretary,  and  all  their  official  and  confidential  friends,  it  was 
barely  possible.  The  consequence  was,  a  visible  agitation, 
and  an  involuntary  ejaculation  of  Le  Diable  ! 

"  Precisely  so,"  said  the  Comtesse;  and  the  Comte  was 
convinced,  by  that  phrase,  that  the  gentleman  in  black  had 
betrayed  him.  "  Yes,"  continued  the  Comtesse,  Le  Diable, 
indeed  !  That  is  the  very  thing.  I  know  all  about  it." 

"  Then,  Madame,"  said  the  Comte,  after  some  hesitation, 
"  you  cannot  but  pity  rne.  You  must  be  aware  that  I  have, 
hitherto,  concealed  the  truth  from  you,  merely  to  save  your 
feelings,  and  that  I  have  made  use  of  my  wealth  and  conse- 
quent power,  to  promote  your  happiness." 

Here  the  lady  was  quite  overwhelmed  by  the  violence  of 
contending  emotions;  for  she  had  only  pretended  to  believe 
Lisette's  tale,  for  the  purpose  of  producing  effect.  Now, 
however,  her  husband  had,  as  it  seemed,  confessed  his  devil- 
hood;  and,  therefore,  on  that  hint  she  spake,  and  called  him 
by  a  great  variety  of  names,  and  vowed  that  she  had  been 
entrapped,  and  deceived,  and  most  exceedingly  ill-used,  and 
withal,  that  she  had  always  suspected  that  there  was  some- 
thing very  mysterious  about  him. 

It  would  seem  that  the  habit  of  having  her  own  way  for  so 
many  years  had  changed  the  Couuesse,  when  delivering  her 
sentiments;  and  her  spouse  could  not  help  comparing  the  cut- 
ting vituperations,  to  which  it  was  his  fate  to  be  now  exposed, 
with  the  silvery  tones  of  his  beloved  Emilie  before  marriago; 
and  he  rashly  ventured  to  say  something  thereupon.  The 
consequence  was  a  repetition  of  the  epithets  before  mentioned, 


THE    GENTLEMAN    IN    BLACK.  81 

with  the  addition  of  a  few  more  which  happened  to  occur  to 
the  Cotntesse's  recollection;  and  the  whole  was  terminated 
by  something1  very  like  hysterics,  (l>ut  not  precisely  so,  for 
the  Corntesse  was  not  much  given  to  nervous  affections,)  and 
the  angry  avowal,  that,  had  she  known  or  suspected  ihetmlh, 
notwithstanding  his  riches,  rather  than  have  married  him,  she 
would  have  seen  him  in  the  very  worst  and  deepest  part  of  a 
very  bad  place,  that  sh;ill  be  nameless  here. 

"  I  don  t  believe  a  word  of  it,"  said  the  Comte,  who  felt 
somewhat  exasperated  in  his  turn. 

"  Don't  yon,  Monsieur  Diablo?"  exclaimed  the  incensed 
Corntesse;  "  but  you  shall  see  that  I  have  a  spirit;  for  I  vow 
that  you  shall  never  see  my  lace  again;"  and,  with  these 
words,  she  rushed  out  of  the  room. 

Whether  the  lady  meant  this  as  somewhat  more  than  a 
mere  lover's  vow,  or  whether  the  Comte  really  believed  she 
would  keep  it,  can  scarcely  be  ascertained;  for  she  instant! v 
began  to  collect  some  unpaid  bills,  respecting  which  she  had 
been  lately  annoyed;  and  he,  immediately  on  being  left  alone, 
took  a  pinch  of  snuff,  shrugged  up  his  shoulders,  and  observed 
that  "  something-  worse  might  have  happened;"  and  then 
summoned  his  valet,  and  ordered  him  to  prepare  for  a 
journey  to  England,  which  he  had  resolved  to  commence 
immediately. 


CHAPTER  YD. 

WHEN  the  Comte  arrived  in  London,  he  found  no  difficulty 
in  obtaining  the  address  of  his  quondam  youthful  friend,  Mr. 
Maxwell;  and  their  meeting  was  such  as  might  be  expected 
between  two  persons  who  have  frequently,  during  a  pro- 
tracted separation,  thought  upon  the  days  of  "  auld  lang 
Byne." 

Comte  Louis  listened  to  the  particulars  of  his  brother 
bondsman  s  escape,  with  a  degree  of  patience  which  is  seldom 
bestowed  upon  long  stories:  and  was  not  the  less  anxious  for 
an  introduction  to  old  Bagsby,  because  he  could  not  exactly 
comprehend  the  nature  of  the  threatened  Chancery  suit,  with 
which  that  ancient  limb  of  the  law  had  so  effectually  alarmed 
the  gentleman  in  black. 
5 


82  THE    GENTLEMAN    IN    BLACK. 

The  two  friends  accordingly  repaired  forthwith  to  Lyon's 
Inn,  where  they  found  the  lean  veteran  at  his  post,  and 
received  that  sort  of  welcome  which  rich  clients  usually 
experience  from  experienced  legal  advisers. 

Mr.  Maxwell  introduced  the  Comte  and  his  business:  and 
the  Comte  himself  endeavoured  to  elucidate  the  subject;  but 
he  spoke  such  an  odd  sort  of  English,  as  might  have  tended 
to  perplex  any  one,  except  an  old  lawyer,  who  had  Jived  more 
than  half  a  century  in  the  midst  of  botheration  and  intricate 
investigation. 

"  Humph!"  said  the  man  of  parchment,  after  patiently 
listening  to  his  client's  statement,  "  Humph!  This  is  an  ugly 
piece  of  business!"  and  he  pulled  off  hi?  spectacles,  and  laid 
them  on  the  table,  and  threw  himself  back  in  his  chair,  and 
projected  his  under  lip,  and  began  to  pull  it  with  the  forefinger 
and  thumb  of  his  left  hand,  while  the  two  friends,  but  more 
particularly  the  Comte,  watched  his  motions  witli  no  small  de- 
gree of  anxiety,  and  a  most  profound  and  respectful  silence. 

After  a  brief  pause,  there  appeared  a  gleam  of  cunning 
exultation  lighted  up  in  the  old  fellow's  eye;  and  his  wrinkled 
mouth,  in  spite  of  the  hold  upon  the  under  lip,  pursed  itself 
into  somewhat  like  a  corresponding  smile.  Divers  other  con- 
tortions followed,  such  as  one  might  have  supposed  to  have 
been  in  fashion  among  the  Sybils;  and,  at  length,  he  spoke 
oracularly. 

"  Humph!  This  is  an  ugly  piece  of  business!  But,  how- 
ever.sir,  if  youwill  put  yourself  entirely  in  my  hands,  and  follow 
my  directions  implicitly,  I  think  we  need  not  despair.  Indeed, 
I  have  no  doubt  we  shall  be  able  to  pull  you  through." 

"  Est  il possible?"  exclaimed  the  Comte;  "  my  dear  sir! 
What  a  fool  I  have  been  to  waste  my  time  in  parleying  with 
ignorant  monks  and  priests,  instead  of  coining  to  you!  I  am 
perfectly  enchanted  and  astonished  at  your  abilities!  It  is 
a  disgrace  to  your  highly-polished  and  polite  nation,  that  you 
are  not  Lord  Chancellor!" 

We  have  here  given  the  substance,  rather  than  the  words 
of  Monsieur  Le  Comte  D'Ormalle,  and  mean,  during  the  re- 
cital of  what  happened  to  him  in  England,  to  adopt  the  same 
plan,  inasmuch  as,  if  we  were  to  repeat  his  Gallicisms,  the 
effect  produced  might  be  somewhat  too  light  and  ludicrous  for 
the  serious  nature  of  our  tale.  It  is  not  to  be  expected'in  any 
case,  that  foreigners  can  talk  like  natives.  Indeed,  the  gen- 
tleman in  black  had  told  our  heroes,  many  years  before,  when 
they  were  commencing  their  travels,  that,  notwithstanding 


THE    GENTLEMAN    IN    BLACK.  83 

his  friendship  and  wish  to  oblige  them,  he  could  not  assist 
them  in  that  particular. 

"  For,"  said  he,  "  in  spite  of  the  constant  intercourse 
which  I  have  with  various  nations,  the  continual  alterations 
in  idioms  and  phraseology,  and  the  coining  and  changing  of 
words  are  such,  that  1  am  frequently  puzzled  myself." 

In  the  present  case,  however,  the  Comte's  bad  English 
was  of  little  importance,  since  most  persons  can  understand 
flattering  speeches,  however  indifferently  they  may  be  ex- 
pressed. 

Bagsbv,  therefore,  bowed  his  acknowledgments,  and  mut- 
tered somewhat  about  its  being  a  man's  duty  to  be  satisfied, 
if,  "  in  these  times,  he  could  get  bread  and  cheese,  and  make 
both  ends  meet !" 

Mr.  Maxwell,  who  had  now,  under  the  instruction  of  his 
father's  old  friend  and  servant,  Mr.  Ledger,  become  some- 
vhat  like  a  man  of  business,  requested  Bagsby  to  communi- 
cate his  plan  for  the  discomfiture  of  the  gentleman  in  black: 
and  the  Comfc,  having  declared,  upon  his  honour,  that  he 
would  act,  in  every  respect,  as  he  should  be  directed,  the 
man  of  law  made  him  produce  his  black  morocco  book, 
and  compare  some  of  the  notes  therein  with  others  which 
were  in  the  office,  and  which  had  been  brought  directly  from 
the  Bank. 

Spectacles  and  magnifying  glasses  were  used,  but  the  trio 
were  unable  to  discover  the  smallest  difference;  and  Bagsby 
could  not  refrain  from  heaving  a  sigh  at  the  recollection  of 
the  toil  and  difficulty  which  he  had  experienced  in  amassing 
the  few  he  was  able  to  call  his  own;  while  the  Comte  had 
only  to  open  his  book  and  take  out  any  number  he  thought 
fit.  He  knew  that  there  was  not  a  word  about  interest 
mentioned  in  the  bond,  and  strange  visions  came  over  his 
mind,  of  the  immense  profits  which,  with  his  knowledge  of 
things  in  general,  he  could  make  of  an  unlimited  capital 
under  such  circumstances.  "  I'd  be  bound  very  shortly  to 
pay  the  dingy  gentleman  his  principal,"  thought  he,  "  a«d 
realize  a  handsome  fortune."  And  again  he  sighed,  and 
appeared,  for  a  few  seconds,  Ibst  in  a  revery,  from  which  he 
was  aroused  by  Mr.  Maxwell,  who  said  that  he  had  business 
in  the  city,  and  must  be  moving. 

The  lean  limb  of  the  law  forthwith  began  to  unfold  part  of 
his  plan,  and  instructed  the  Comte  to  purchase  bullion  and 
foreign  specie  with  the  notes  aforesaid.  "  We  will  never," 
said  he,  "  allow  any  of  the  forgeries  to  be  carried  to  account 


84  THE    GENTLEMAN    IN    BLACK. 

against  you  by  the  gentleman  in  question;  and  you  may  very 
shortly,  in  this  way,  realize  a  sufficient  sum  to  set  all  straight 
with  the  old  fellow." 

The  Comte  was  highly  delighted  with  the  scheme,  and 
immediately  commenced  operations,  by  going  into  the  city 
and  buying,  at  a  somewhat  apparently  dear  rate,  divers 
weighty  packages  of  Napoleons,  louis  d'ors,  &c.,  &c.:  and, 
when  the  market  was  somewhat  thinned  of  gold,  he  began  to 
speculate  in  silver. 

These  transactions,  which  we  here  briefly  relate,  occupied 
many  days,  and  caused  a  rise  of  no  small  magnitude  in  the 
prices  of  gold  and  silver  bullion.  Indeed,  the  subsequent 
scarcity  of  the  precious  metals  throughout  the  British  empire, 
and  the  depreciation  of  paper  money,  respecting  which  so 
many  opaque  pamphlets  were  written,  have  been  supposed 
by  some  to  date  their  origin  from  these  and  similar  trans- 
actions; that  is  to  say,  from  endeavours  to  pay  the  gentle- 
man in  black,  what  appeared  to  be  his  due. 

In  the  mean  while  he  did  not  remain  idle.  The  demands 
of  the  Comte  D'Ormalle  upon  the  black  morocco  leather 
pocket-book,  were  too  frequent  to  escape  the  notice  of  so 
nice  a  calculator;  and,  after  some  inquiry,  finding  how  matters 
were  going  on,  he  called  upon  Bagsby,  and  had  a  long 
private  interview  with  him,  during  which  it  is  said  that  high 
words  past  between  them:  but  the  exact  particulars  never 
transpired. 

The  immediate  result,  however,  was,  that  old  Jerry  was 
despatched  with  a  letter  to  the  Comte,  desiring  him  instantly 
to  change  his  quarters,  and  take  lodgings  in  some  retired  part 
of  the  town,  and,  on  no  account  whatsoever,  to  show  himself 
in  public. 

With  the  former  part  of  this  advice  his  client  instantly 
complied,  being  assisted  in  his  research  for  a  snug  retreat  by 
Mr.  Maxwell:  but,  alas!  all  men  have  their  weak  sides;  and 
there  are  certain  pleasures  so  bewitching  and  fascinating  to 
uf  all,  in  our  turn,  that  even  the  dread  of  the  gentleman  in 
black  himself,  is  not  sufficiently  powerful  to  deter  us  from  the 
enjoyment  thereof. 

The  Comte  found  it  utterly  impossible  to  absent  himself 
from  the  opera:  and,  having  made  up  his  mind  to  go,  he 
found  little  difficulty  in  persuading  himself  that  he  should  be 
as  completely  concealed  in  the  midst  of  a  crowded  audience, 
as  in  his  own  lodgings.  Therefore  he  went  to  see  his 
countryman,  Monsieur  Piaffeur,  achieve  a  complicated  dance 


THE    GENTLEMAN    IN    BLACK.  85 

with  the  two  Mademoiselles  Rebatins;  and  was  so  delig-hted 
with  the  performance  of  the  trio,  that  he  could  not  avoid 
exclaiming,  "  Superbe  et  magnifique!  Bravo!  et  encore F 

Some  half  score  pair  of  eyes  were  immediately  turned 
toward  the  enthusiastic  applauder,  who,  with  a  chilly  and 
uncomfortable  feeling,  recognized  among  them  those  of  an  old 
acquaintance,  who  had  formerly  sported  a  pompadour  coat  in 
the  Palais  Royal. 

The  Comte,  who  was  considered  somewhat  of  a  proficient 
in  the  art,  resolved  to  "  cut"  him,  and  accordingly  armed 
himself  with  his  snuff-box  and  eye-glass,  and  acted  his  part 
«  merveille,  crazing  as  unconsciously  as  possible  at  the  indi- 
vidual >n  question,  and  then  turned  a  way  to  look  at  something 
else,  with  an  expressive  shrug  of  the  shoulders,  which  said,  as 
plainly  as  shrug  could  speak,  "  No,  sir,  I  certainly  have 
never  had  the  honour  of  being  introduced  to  you." 

But  the  gentleman  in  black,  instead  of  being  put  out  of 
countenance,  seemed  much  diverted  by  this  display  of  sang 
froicl,  and  forthwith  repeated  the  poor  Cornte's  exclamation, 
"  Superbe  et  marjnifique  !  Bravo!  Encore!" 

Whereupon  the  Frenchman  again  hoisted  his  shoulders, 
and  said  "  Bourgeois!"  and  redoubled  his  efforts  to  appear 
perfec'ilv  at  ease,  and  consequently  drew  upon  himself  a 
double  share  of  notice. 

Now  it  happened,  fortunately,  that  Mr.  Maxwell  was  at 
the  opera  that  night;  and  it  was  yet  more  fortunate  that  his 
attention  was  drawn  to  the  spot  where  this  little  scene  was 
enacted  in  the  pit.  He  had  become,  as  we  have  observed 
before,  under  Mr.  Ledger's  tuition,  somewhat  of  a  man  of 
business,  and,  therefore,  he  knew  that  delays  were  dangerous; 
so  he  instantly  despatched  a  friend  who  was  in  the  box  with 
him,  to  summon  old  Bagsby  to  the  scene  of  action,  feeling,  no 
doubt,  that  the  gentleman  in  black  was  contemplating  a 
coup  de  wain:  and  it  was  well  that  he  did  so,  for  the  lean 
and  learned  man  of  law  arrived  just  in  time  to  witness  the 
caption  of  his  client  by  Messieurs  Tappem  and  Grump*,  two 
of  the  legal  "  operatives"  on  such  services,  who  acted  under 
the  orders  of  Mr.  Micros  Crabseye,  of  whom  we  have  had 
occasion  formerly  to  speak. 

Mr.  Maxwell  offered  bail  to  any  amount  in  behalf  of  his 
friend;  but  Mr.  Crabseye  declared  bail  to  be  quite  inad- 
missible, as  the  prisoner's  offence  was  of  a  capital  nature, 
"  Indeed,"  said  he,  "  if  it  were  not  so,  arid  the  pro.ifs  were 
much  less  plain,  there  have  been  so  many  forged  notej 
I 


86 


THE    GENTLEMAN    IN    BLACK. 


in  the  market  lately,  that  it  is  our  duty  to  the  public,  as  well 
as  to  ourselves,  to  make  an  example  whenever  \ve  have  it  in 
our  power." 

"  Humph !"  coughed  Bagsby,  whose  presence  then  was 
first  perceived;  "  humph!  this  is  an  ugly  piece  of  business! 
But,"  he  whispered  to  the  Comte,  "  keep  up  your  spirits! 
1  have  no  doubt  that  we  shall  be  able  to  pull  you  through." 

"  Who  sent  for  you?"  exclaimed  the  gentleman  in  black, 
who  appeared  much  ruffled,  and  forgetful  of  his  habitual 
politeness,  at  this  unexpected  and  unwelcome  apparition  of 
one  of  the  very  few  persons  in  the  world,  by  whom  he  had  been 
outwitted. 

"  What's  that  to  you?"  asked  Bagsby,  with  the  same  degree 
of  urbanity;  "  if  you  had  agreed  to  my  reasonable  propo- 
sition, and  let  me  have  a  pocket-book" 

"  Pshaw!"  exclaimed  the  gentleman  of  the  black  books, 
interrupting  him;  "  reasonable,  indeed!  I'm  not  such  a 
fool  as  to  pay  a  high  price  for  what  I'm  sure  of  getting  for 
nothing.  No,  no;"  and  he  began  to  laugh  at  his  own  joke,  as 
was  very  customary  with  him,  and  to  take  snuff  with  great 
glee,  while  Bagsby  appeared  to  be  trembling  with  passion, 
and  literally  foaming  at  the  mouth. 

"  We  can't  waste  our  time,"  said  Mr.  Micros  Crabseye; 
"  come  Tappem!  come  Grumps!  Do  your  duty." 

"  There  is  no  occasion  for  violence,"  said  Mr.  Maxwell. 
"  Let  the  gentleman  be  treated  according  to  his  station  in 
life,  which  is  that  of  a  peer  of  France." 

Messrs.  Tappem  and  Grumps  receded  two  steps  at  this 
information,  but  kept  their  eyes  steadfastly  upon  the  pri- 
soner, while  Mr.  Crabseye  very  inelegantly  remarked,  that  it 
was  all  gammon  and  humbug,  and  that  he  had  no  notion  of 
foreign  counts  and  marquesses. 

The  scene  had  hitherto  been  enacted  in  the  lobby  of  the 
theatre:  but,  as  a  crowd  began  to  collect,  Mr.  Maxwell 
offered  the  use  of  his  carriage,  by  which,  and  a  hackney 
coach,  which  Mr.  Crabseye  had  in  waiting,  all  the  parties 
were  speedily  removed,  "  as  per  agreement,'  to  a  neighbour- 
ing hotel;  Bagsby  taking  an  opportunity,  during  the  transit, 
«i  recovering  his  lost  temper,  and  whispering  certain  in- 
structions into  Mr.  Maxwell's  ear,  in  consequence  of  which, 
immediately  on  entering  the  hotel,  that  gentleman  gave 
orders  for  wines  and  refreshment  to  be  placed  on  the 
table. 

When  thev  entered  the  room  it  wanted  precisely  twenty 


THE    GENTLEMAN    IN    BLACK.  87 

minutes  to  twelve  o'clock.  It  was  an  anxious  time  for  the  poor 
Comte,  who  had  his  black  morocco  leather  pocket-book  about 
him,  containing  many  of  the  notes  in  question,  the  discover}' 
of  which  upon  his  person  would,  he  knew,  render  his  case 
absolutely  desperate. 

But  neither  Mr.  Maxwell  nor  old  Bagsliy  had  forgotten 
that,  provided  the  said  notes  were  not  previously  produced, 
they  would,  according  to  the  bond,  vanish  at  midnight. 

The  former,  therefore,  politely  addressed  Mr.  Crabseye, 
telling  him  that  he  had  frequently  heard  of  his  extreme 
vigilance,  and  that  it  was  much  better  that,  as  in  the  present 
case,  an  innocent  man  should  be  put  to  inconvenience,  than 
that  the  guilty  should  escape.  "  Really,  my  good  sir,"  he 
continued,  "  the  Bank  of  England,  nay,  I  may  say  the  public 
in  general,  are  greatly  indebted  to  you.  For  my  own  part,  as 
a  partner  in  a  house -of  some  eminence  in  the  city,  I  feel  a 
degree  of  personal  obligation,  which,  upon  my  word,  I  hardly 
know  how  to  express." 

"  Very  iikcly  not,"  observed  the  gentleman  in  black,  who 
was  as  wel5  aware  of  the  value  of  time  as  any  of  the  parties. 
"  Do  me  the  favour,  Mr.  Crabseye,  just  to  cast  your  eye  on 
that  gentleman;  and  then,  perhaps,  yon  will  recollect  certain 
forged  notes  being  traced  to  him  some  time  since." 

"  I  know  the  gentleman  and  his  firm — Maxwell,  Ledger, 
and  Co.,"  replied  Mr.  Crabseye;  "  we  have  kept  a  sharp 
look  out,  I  promise  you:  but  all's  right  there.  I  don> 
know  a  more  respectable  merchant  in  the  city,  than  Mr. 
Ledger." 

"  He's  an  old  hum-drum,  line-ruling,  dot-and-go-one, 
calculating,  plodding,  sneaking,  inanimate,  old-fashioned, 
rusty,  old  square-toes!"  exclaimed  the  gentleman  in  black, 
forgetting  himself  for  a  moment,  in  his  rage  against  Mr. 
Ledger,  of  whom  he  never  liked  to  hear.  But  recollecting 
himself,  he  continued,  "  I  beg  your  pardon  for  being  warm. 
I  never  had  but  one  transaction  with  the  person  of  whom 
you  speak,  and  that  was  anything  but  satisfactory.  How- 
ever, he  is  not  here  now — that's  one  comfort! — So  I  beg 
leave  to  observe  that  the  prisoner  ought  immediately  to 
be  searched;  or,  even  now,  the  ends  of  justice  may  be 
defeated." 

"  There  can  be  no  occasion,"  said  Mr.  Maxwell,  "  for  treat- 
ing a  gentleman  with  such  indignity." 

"  He  knows  better  '  observed  the  gentleman  in  black, 
sarcastically. 


88  THE    GENTLEMAN    IN    BLACK. 

«*  What  do  you  mean  by  that?"  asked  Mr.  Maxwell. 

"  Ay,  ay,"  cried  Bagsby,  strutting  forward,  "What  do  yon 
mean  by  that  insinuation?  I  beg  you  to  understand  that  a 
British  merchant" 

"Confound  all  British  merchants!"  exclaimed  the  man  of 
the  black  doak;  "really,  Mr.  Crabseye,  if  you  do  not  imme- 
diately order  these  men  to  do  their  duty,  I  will  not  answer 
for  the  consequences." 

Here  old  Bagsby  jogged  Mr.  Maxwell's  elbow  and  whis- 
pered, "  Pick  a  quarrel!  Kick  up  a  row!  Go  it!  Anything 
for  the  sake  of  time!  it  wants  only  ten  minutes!"  and  then 
the  cunning  lawyer  lifted  up  his  own  voice,  and  addressed 
the  gentleman  in  black,  saying,  "  I'll  tell  you  what,  Mr.  What- 
d'ye-call-em,  a  British  merchant  is  not  to  be  lightly  spoken 
of  by  such  fellows  as  you.  What  are  you?  Where  do  you 
come  from?  Pray,  Mr.  Crabseye,  my  worthy  friend,  where 
did  you  pick  up  this  ragamuffin  of  an  informer?" 

"  It  can  be  of  little  consequence,"  replied  Mr.  Crabseye, 
with  much  dignity;  "we  are  not  in  the  habit  of  revealing  the 
sources  whence  we  obtain  our  information.  This  gentleman 
has  lately  made  several  discoveries  of  importance  to  us. 
Perhaps  he  may  have  had  a  hand  in  some  awkward  business; 
but  what  of  that?  we  must  have  evidence,  and  we  must  make 
examples  of  some;  and  you  know  the  old  adage,  '  Set  a  thief 
to  catch  a  thief,'  eh  ?" 

"  Ay,  ay,"  cried  the  gentleman  in  black,  he  knows  that 
proverb  well  enough,  and  its  application  too:  for,  if  it  were 
not  for  that  feeling,  there  would  be  little  enough  to  do  in  his 
office  at  Lyon's  Inn.  He!  he!  he!  However,  pray,  my 
dear  sir!  don't  lose  any  more  time,  but  begin  to  search,  ft 
•will  be  of  no  use  presently." 

"That's  all  my  eye  and  Betty  Martin!"  ejaculated  Mr. 
Grumps;  "  I've  got  my  eye-teeth  about  me,  I'll  promise  ye; 
and  if  so  be  as  the  gemman  goes  to  throw  anything  away 
without  my  seeing  it,  I'll  eat  it — that's  all." 

"  The  thing's  morally  unpossible,"  observed  Mr.  Tappem. 
"  He  an't  the  first  noble  gentleman  we've  had  hold  on,  by  a 
pretty  many." 

"These  men  have  been  tampered  with!"  exclaimed  the 
gentleman  in  black,  angrily. 

"What  does  he  say?"  cried  Bagsoy,  "what!  my  friends 
Tappem  and  Grumps!  I'll  be  bold  enough  to  say  that  thej 
are  as  worthy  and  honourable  men  as  any  about  the  courts 
A  pretty  sort  of  a  thing  it  would  be  indeed,  if  honest  men's 


THE    GENTLEMAN    IN     BLACK.  89 

characters  were  to  be  at  the  mercy  of  a  fellow  like  this!  But 
I'll  tell  you  what,  gentlemen,"  he  continued,  whispering  to 
the  officers;  "  he's  got  plenty  of  money,  I  know;  and,  if  I  was 
iu  your  place,  I'd  make  him  pay  pretty  handsomely,  or  bring 
an  "action  against  him.  For  (here  he  elevated  his  voice,  and 
spoke  as  loud  as  possible)  character — character,  gentlemen, 
is  everything — 

•  Who  steals  my  purse,  steals  trash;  'tis  something — nothing; 
'Twas  mine,  'tis  his,  and  has  been  slave  to  thousands: 
But  he  that  filches  from  me  my  good  name, 
Robs  me  of  that  which  not  enriches  him, 
And  makes  me  poor  indeed.'  " 

"  Ay,  ay,"  roared  Grumps,  strutting  up  to  the  gentleman 
in  black,  "  who  steals  my  purse,  steals  trash — but  as  for  my 
good  name,  why,  it — has  been — slave  to  thousands — what  is 
it?  I  don't  understand  poetry.  Howsomever,  the  short  and 
the  long  of  the  business  is,  I  shan't  stand  no  nonsense;  and 
so,  if  you  don't  make  an  apology" 

"  Ah,  to  be  sure,"  said  Tappem,  "  an  apology,  or  else  come 
down  pretty  handsome;  why,  look  ye,  Mr.  Black-and-all- 
black!  mayhap  you  may  find  you  have  met  with  your  match — 
that's  all.  Ah,  to  be  sure,  he  who  filches  from  mo  my  cha- 
racter, robs  me  of  that  which  ari't  of  no  use  to  him  nor 
nobody  else,  and  it's  a  burning  shame." 

The  moment  Tappem  was  silent,  Grumps  resumed;  and 
the  instant  Grumps  was  silent,  Tappem  spoke;  and  some- 
times both  spoke  together;  and,  as  they  waxed  warm,  their 
language  became  more  obscure  and  slangish;  so  that,  alter 
a  few  minutes,  the  gentleman  in  black,  who  had  in  vain  en- 
deavoured to  stop  them,  found  it  utterly  impossible  to  tell 
what  they  were  talking  about,  although  he  was  himself  strongly 
suspected  of  having  lent  a  helping  hand  in  the  compilation  of 
a  "  flash"  dictionary. 

Bagsby  having  thus  succeeded  in  making  a  diversion  in 
favour  of  his  client,  helped  himself  to  a  glass  of  wine,  rubbed 
his  hands,  smacked  his  lips,  and  indulged  himself  in  a  sort  of 
cackling  laugh,  as  he  witnessed  the  perplexity  of  the  black 
bond-holder;  and  then  he  put  his  fore-finger  to  the  side  of  his 
nose,  and  winked  and  nodded  at  the  Comte,  and  said,  "  Never 
fear,  sir!  never  fear!  It's  an  ugly  piece  of  business,  but  I 
have  no  doubt  we  shall  be  able  to  pull  you  through." 

The  gentleman  in  black  perceiving,  by  this  time,  that  he 
had  no  chance  of  silencing  the  two  orators  of  the  handcuff, 
appealed  to  Mr.  Crabseye;  but  that  gentleman,  assuming  an 
I  2 


90  THE    GENTLEMAN    IN    BLACK. 

air  of  hauteur,  coldly  observed  that  it  was  utterly  out  of  his 
power  to  interfere;  yet,  that  he  could  not  help  remarking, 
that  gentlemen  sould  not  be  too  cautious  in  their  remarks, 
and  that  all  sorts  of  insinuations  against  men's  characters, 
unless  they  could  be  substantiated  by  evidence,  were  highly 
improper;  and  he  concluded  by  averring  that,  to  his  own 
belief  and  knowledge,  Messrs.  Tappein  and  Gruinps  were 
most  highly  respectable  and  honourable  men.  Hereupon  the 
two  gentlemen  last  mentioned,  evinced  their  approbation  by 
a  simultaneous  cry  of  "Ay,  ay!"  and,  a  moment  after,  the 
clock  struck  twelve. 

"Hurrah!"  shouted  Mr.  Maxwell. 

"  Bravo!  bravissimo!  very  good!"  exclaimed  Comte  Louis. 

"  Tol  lol  de  rol,"  squeaked  Bagsby,  apeing  the  gaiety  of 
his  companions,  by  snapping  his  ringers  and  holding  up  one 
of  his  shrivelled  legs  as  if  about  to  cut  a  caper. 

"  I  told  you  how  it  would  be!"  said  the  gentleman  in  black, 
addressing  Crabseye. 

"  Told  me  what'r"  inquired  the  inquisitor  of  bank  notes. 

"  It  is  of  no  use  to  search  him  now"  observed  the  gentle- 
man in  black,  sullenly.  "  I  told  you  how  it  would  be." 

"Told  me  whatir"  repeated  Crabseye. 

"  It's  past  twelve,"  was  the  reply. 

"  He,  he,  he!  ha,  ha,  ha!"  chuckled  Bagsby.  "  Ho,  ho,  ho! 
why,  you  don't  understand  the  gentleman,  Mr.  Crabseye:  he 
told  you  the  clock  would  strike — ho,  ho,  ho!  oh  dear!"  Here 
his  cough  interfered  to  prevent  any  farther  remarks,  and  the 
gentleman  in  black,  ha\ing  tapped  his  black  snutt-box  and 
taken  a  pinch  of  blackguard,  appeared  to  have  recovered  his 
equanimity,  and  calmly  told  Mr.  Crabseye  that  he  had  no- 
thing more  to  observe  on  the  business,  as  the  prisoner  was 
secured,  and  the  law  would,  doubtless,  take  its  course. 

He  then  shook  hands  with  Messrs.  Tappein  and  Gruinps. 
and  the  contact  of  his  ringers  with  their  palms  had  an  almost 
magical  effect;  for  they  not  only  ceased  to  ask  for  apologies 
relative  to  the  injuries  inflicted  upon  their  characters,  but 
declared  that  they  thought  all  along  that  he  was  "  a  real 
gentleman."  He  then  gracefully  folded  his  cloak  about  him, 
and  politely  took  his  leave  of  the  party.  Mr.  Micros  Crabs- 
eye  very  shortly  followed  his  example;  and  Mr.  Maxwell, 
after  listening,  with  evident  satisfaction,  to  something  whis- 
dered  in  his  ear  by  old  Bagsby,  went  next. 

The  remaining  four  then  sat  down  to  table;  and  the  Comte, 
implicitly  obeying  every  direction  of  his  skinny  lawyer,  called 


THE    GENTLEMAN     IN    BLACK.  91 

for  champagne,  which  came  at  his  call,  and  disappeared  forth- 
with in  the  hands  of  Tappern  and  Grumps,  whom  Bagsby 
proceeded  to  address: — "  Gentlemen!  my  friend  here  is  a 
Frenchman,  and  doesn't  understand  a  word  of  English;  there- 
fore, it's  no  sort  of  consequence  what  we  say  before  him:  so, 
first  I  must  tell  you,  for  the  sake  of  your  consciences,  he  is 
no  more  guilty  of  forging  notes  than  I  am.  Perhaps  he  may 
have  passed  one  or  two  innocently — that  might  happen  to 
any  man — but,  as  for  forging,  he  has  no  notion  of  it — indeed 
I  suspect  that  fellow  that  gave  the  information." 

"  What!"  said  Grumps,  "him  as  just  went  away,  whom  we 
jawed  a  bit  about  our  characters?" 

"  The  same,"  replied  Hajjsby;  "  I  have  my  reasons." 

"Come,  come,  that  won't  do,"  cried  Tappem;  "we're  not 
to  be  bamboozled  in  that  way.  He's  a  gentleman  every 
inch  of  him,  and  I  wish  you  were  as  much  of  one,  that's  all! 
Come,  here's  to  your  reformation,  (and  he  filled  himself  a 
bumper)  you  sly  old  fox !  You're  up  to  some  gammon  or 
other  now,  I  can  see,  by  the  twinkling  of  your  eyes,  and  your 
jaw-pulling  trick.  Ay,  ay,  what!  you're  laughing,  are  you? 
Well,  well,  you  may  as  well  tell  us  what  it  is  at  once;  for 
we're  all  friends,  and  it's  getting  late." 

Upon  this  hint  Bagsby  spoke  to  the  officers  in  terms  by  no 
means  ambiguous;  and  a  very  brief  interval  elapsed  ere  the 
party  were  proceeding  along  the  streets  in  a  hackney  coach, 
towards  Mr.  Tappem's  private  residence,  wherein  it  had  been 
previously  arranged  with  Mr.  Crabseye,  the  person  of  Comte 
Louis  was  to  be  secured  for  the  night.  Ere  they  mounted  the 
vehicle,  Mr.  Grumps  had  walked  round  it,  to  see  that  the 
straps  and  other  matters  were  in  good  order;  for  Bagsby 
observed  that  several  of  his  friends  had  met  with  unpleasant 
accidents,  from  the  shocking  inattention  of  hackney  coach- 
men. This  precaution,  however,  seemed  to  be  in  vain, 
though  we  dare  not  say  it  did  not  answer  the  purpose,  for,  in 
passing  along  a  narrow  street,  something  gave  way,  and  the 
crazy  vehicle  heeled  over  on  one  side.  The  Comte,  Bagsby, 
and  Tappem,  found  little  difficulty  in  extricating  themselves, 
as  from  a  trap-door;  but  poor  Grumps  lay  at  the  bottom,  and 
declared  his  leg  was  broken,  and  his  humane  comrade  was 
peeping  pitifully  into  the  dark  abyss,  and  lamenting  so  grie- 
vous a  disaster,  when  the  Comte,  under  the  directions  of 
Bagsby,  discharged  the  contents  of  his  snuff-box  into  his  face. 

"  My  eves!  oh,  bless  my  heart!  I  can't  see!"  said  Tappem? 
clapping  his  hands  before  his  eyes. 


92  THE    GENTLEMAN    IN    BLACK. 

"  This  way,"  whispered  Bagsby,  taking  the  Comte's  arm. 
"it's  all  right;"  and  he  led  him  through  one  dark  alley  into 
another,  and  turned  to  the  left  and  the  right,  and  the  left 
about,  and  the  right  about,  for  the  space  of  about  half  an 
hour;  and  then  they  suddenly  emerged  into  a  wide  street 
near  a  bridge,  where  they  found  Mr.  Maxwell  waitiny  foi 
them  in  a  chaise  and  four.  So  the  lawyer  took  a  brief  ]e-A\e 
of  his  client,  who  took  a  seat  in  the  vehicle,  and  arrived  in 
his  native  land  in  good  time  for  dinner. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE  morning  after  the  events  related  in  the  last  chapter,  old 
Bagsby  found  himself  very  lonely  in  his  gloomy  office  in 
Lyon's  Inn.  The  magnitude  of  the  Comte's  transactions,  in 
which  he  had  so  recently  been  engaged,  made  the  "  six  and 
eightpences"  appear  exceedingly  insignificant;  and  he  conned 
and  looked  over  the  petty  items  of  his  regular  clients  with  a  lan- 
guid eye,  then  pulled  his  lip,  thrust  the  papers  from  him,  threw 
himself  back  in  his  chair,  looked  at  the  accustomed  thrifty 
modicum  of  small  coal  in  one  corner  of  the  grate,  and  sighed. 

While  he  was  in  this  frame  of  mind,  the  door  opened,  and 
the  gentleman  in  black  made  his  appearance,  and  politely 
expressed  a  hope  that  he  saw  his  learned  friend  in  good 
health  and  spirits. 

"  Middling,"  replied  Bagsby;  "  I  believe  I  caught  abit  of  a 
cold  last  night.  Heugh!  heugh!  I  don't  like  late  hours." 

"  I  am  particularly  partial  to  them,"  said  he  of  the  black 
cloak,  placing  a  chair  near  the  fire-place,  and  seating  himself 
therein  in  a  quite-at-home  sort  of  a  manner;  "  I  recommend 
them  particularly  to  all  my  friends." 

"  Humph!"  grunted  the  lawyer,  "very  likely.  But  what's 
your  business  here?  I  am  engaged,  you  see,  and  have  no 
time  for  visits  of  ceremony.  The  case  in  which  we  were 
engaged,  is  now  removed  into  another  court,  and  I  hate 
morning  calls." 

"  There  again,"  exclaimed  the  gentleman  of  the  black- 
edged  papers,  "  that's  very  extraordinary!  I  am  particularly 
partial  to  them.  The  sort  of  conversation  which  generally 
passes  oil  euch  occasions,  pleases  me  exceedingly,  that  is.  in 


THE   GEXTLEMAS    IN   BLACK.  93 

a  small  way.  Somewhat  in  the  same  manner  as  the  six  and 
eightpences  conte-ibute  to  your  comfort,  eh  ?  You  compre- 
hend? When  there  is  no  business  on  a  large  scale  to  be 
done,  eh?" 

"  Is  that  all  yon  have  to  say?"  inquired  Bagsby,  doggedly 
turning  to  the  table,  and  rummaging  among  the  papers  and 
deeds,  as  though  seeking  for  some  document  of  importance. 

"  Not  exactly."  replied  the  other.  "  You  managed  that 
business  last  night  with  your  usual  skill,  and  I  wish  to  expres? 
to  you,  that  1  do  not  feel  the  least  animosity  on  account  ol 
the  event.  I  confess  myself  to  have  been  out-generalled. 
But,  my  dear  sir,  (here  he  drew  his  chair  somewhat  nearer 
the  lawyer,)  now  the  Comte  has  returned  to  his  own  country, 
of  course  you  do  not  any  longer  consider  him  as  your  client  ?" 

"  Humph!"  said  the  old  limb  of  the  law,  "  that  depends 
upon  circumstances.  There  is  no  process  against  him  at 
present — but — :ahem,  hem!  my  cough  is  very  troublesome." 

"  Well,  well,  never  mind,"  continued  the  gentleman  in  the 
black  suit,  "  I  like  to  come  to  the  point  at  once,  with  those 
who  understand  business;  and  so,  without  farther  preamble, 
as  the  Comte's  business  in  this  country  may  now  be  fairly 
considered  as  terminated,  you  cannot,  in  any  way,  be  con- 
cerned in  the  ultimate  arrangement  of  his  affairs." 

"  Hem,  heugh,  ahem!"  coughed  Bagsby,  "  that  depends 
upon  circum — ahem!  my  cough  is  exceedingly  troublesome.'' 

"  Precisely  so,"  observed  the  gentleman  in  black;  "  I  per- 
ceive it.  Well,  my  dear  sir,  the  simple  matter  is,  that,  from 
what  I  have  witnessed  of  your  talents,  and  considering  you 
now  to  be  perfectly  at  liberty,  1  wait  upon  you  this  morning 
for  the  express  purpose  of  putting  myself  into  your  hands." 

"  What !"  exclaimed  Bagsby,  thrusting  back  his  chair,  and 
starting  with  his  body  erect  therein,  while  his  arms  were 
stretched  forth  to  their  full  extent,  and  his  shrivelled  hands 
grasped  the  elbows  thereof,  with  a  violence  which  seemed  to 
threaten  dislocation  to  the  ancient  seat  of  his  plodding 
industry.  "  What?"  cried  he  again,  and  his  lean  limbs 
appeared  stiffened  beneath  their  parchment  covering,  into  ar 
unnatural  rigidity." 

"  Precisely  so,"  calmly  resumed  the  gentleman  of  th< 
black  paraphernalia;  "in  three  words,  1  wish  to  ask  youi 
advice." 

These  words  had  an  almost  magical  effect  on  the  man  ol 
law.  He  immediately  got  the  better  of  his  rigidity  and  sur- 
prise, recovered  his  self-possession  in  an  instant,  and  even  his 


9-t  THE    GENTLEMAN    IN    BLACK. 

troublesome  cough  appeared  to  be  very  considerably  amended; 
for  he,  forthwith,  commenced  a  speech  of  no  small  length,  in 
which  he  acknowledged  that  he  felt  sensibly  affected  by  tlie 
confidence  which  his  new  client  was  disposed  to  place  in  him: 
that  he  was  aware  how  frequently  he  was  engaged  in  suits  of 
various  descriptions,  and  that  really  the  offer  w  as  too  flatter- 
ing— too  tempting — too — and  then,  and  not  till  then,  he 
began  to  hem,  and  again  complain  of  his  cough. 

"  Precisely  so,"  observed  the  gentleman  in  black.  "  Well, 
there  must  be  a  beginning :  so  now,  as  the  Comte,  by  running 
away  from  the  country,  has  left  you  perfectly  at  liberty, 
I  wish  to  know  what,  in  his  case,  you  would  advise  me  to  dor"" 

"  Humph!"  said  Bagsby,  "  it  is  an  ugly  piece  of  business! 
but,  my  dear  sir,  as  we  are,  comparatively  speaking,  utter 
strangers — that  is,  I  mean,  in  comparison  with  what  we  may 
be  in  future" — 

"  Precisely  so,"  observed  the  dark  gentleman;  "  proceed." 

"  Well,"  continued  the  man  of  law,  "  under  such  circum- 
stances, I  am  sure,  my  dear  sir,  you  will  excuse  my  freedom 
— but,  ahem,  hem,  my  cough  is  very  troublesome !  under 
these  circumstances,  I  say,  I  am  sure  you  will  excuse — but  it 
is  a  rule  that  I  laid  down  for  myself  many  years  airo,  when  I 
first  went  into  business — I  am  sure  you  will  excuse,  but 
really,  there  are  so  many — hem,  hem!  my  cough  is  very 
troublesome." 

"-Then  come  to  the  point  at  once,"  said  the  gentleman  in 
black,  somewhat  testily;  "  are  you  willing  to  assist  me  with 
your  advice?" 

"  Not  unless  I  have  something  in  hand  to  begin  with," 
replied  old  Bagsby,  speaking  as  plain  as  though  he  had  never 
coughed  in  his  life. 

He  had  so  frequently,  in  the  course  of  his  practice,  ex- 
perienced the  potency  of  this  proposition,  in  putting  an  end 
to  many  a  pYomising  conference,  that  even  the  knowledge  of 
his  client's  wealth,  could  not  prevent  him  from  watching  his 
dingy  countenance  with  some  anxiety. 

But  the  dark  gentleman  was  evidently  gratified  by  this 
display  of  the  ruling  passion,  and  >.,.  eyes  twinkled  as  he 
replied,  "  Precisely  so.  Nothing  can  be  more  reasonable!  I 
have  no  idea  of  cheap  law.  It  would  be  a  pretty  sort  of 
thing  if  justice  were  to  be  given  away!  quite  contrary  to  my 
ideas  of  propriety,  I  assure  you.  Shocking!  just  as  if  It 
was  a  thing  of  no  value.  Ho  ho,  ho!  ha,  ha,  ha!  upon  my 
darkness,  you're  a  capital  old  fellow;  I  admire  your  rule 


THE    GENTtEMAN    IN    BLACK.  i/ 

exceedingly,  and  hope  it  will  become  general  throughout 
the  profession.  So  here  goes!"  Uttering  these  words,  no 
began  to  pull  out  from  the  pocket  of  his  black  inexpressibles, 
the  long  black  elastic  silk  purse,  of  which  we  have  so  fre- 
quently had  occasion  to  make  mention,  while  the  lean  lawyer 
sat  with  greedy  eye,  as  fold  after  fohd  came  forth  from  its 
dark  abode,  like  a  cable  from  its  tier  on  shipboard,  and  were 
arranged  in  voluminous  coils  upon  the  rickety  old  office  table, 
which  literally  began  to  groan  beneath  their  weight.  Yet 
still  the  interminable  process  went  on,  while  the  black  purse- 
bearer,  to  whom  the  work  was  as  easy  as  though  he  was 
handling  gossamer,  diverted  himself  by  watching  the  changes 
in  old  Bagsby's  countenance  as  the  heap  accumulated. 

At  length,  the  dark  elderly  gentleman  suspended  his 
labours,  though  the  end  of  his  magical  purse  had  not  yet  bo- 
come  visible,  as  it  extended  from  the  table  to  his  pockot. 
like  a  rope.  What  its  precise  length  might  be,  Bagsby  couV 
not  guess:  but,  judging  from  other  purses,  it  might  be  abo-f 
half  way  out,  for  the  owner  thrust  his  ringer  and  thumb  if»4f . 
an  opening,  such  as  may  be  seen  in  the  centre  of  every-d^ 
money-bays,  and  drew  forth  a  coin  of  the  value  of  sev"F 
shillings,  which  he  placed  before  the  admiring  lawyer,  and,  ft 
a  serious,  business-like  tone,  and  with  a  face  of  surpassing 
gravity,  said,  "  I  shall  thank  you  to  give  me  change,  that  •<• 
fbnrpence." 

The  ancient  lawyer  had  been  gazing  upon  the  wonder 
working  heap  that  was  piled  upon  his  table,  with  a  strange 
intensity;  and  his  feelings  were  of  a  most  complicated  nature. 
He  had  some  indistinct  notion  that  a  great  part,  if  not  the 
whole,  might  fall  to  his  share ;  but,  nevertheless,  there  stole 
upon  him  an  inward  misgiving  that  there  might  be  some  dan- 
ger in  receiving  a  fee  from  such  a  client;  and,  withal,  a 
chilliness  and  fear,  and  trembling,  took  possession  of  him;  the 
rigidity  of  his  muscles  gave  way,  and  his  knees  smote  one 
against  the  other.  Therefore,  the  words  which  were  ad- 
dressed to  him,  for  the  purpose  of  contrasting  his  usual  gains 
with  the  prospect  before  him,  fell  unheeded  upon  his  ear. 

Not  receiving  any  reply,  the  gentleman  in  black  looked  up, 
and  instantly  perceived  the  state  of  the  case. 

"  Smell  this,  my  dear  sir!"  he  exclaimed,  handing  one  of 
his  black  gla°s  Dottles.  "  There — there — you  are  better 
now,  I'm  iure.  What  has  been  the  matter  with  you?" 

"  "res — hem — yes,"  replied  old  Bagsby,  sniffing  at  tl>« 
specific,  "  oh,  ah — it  was  nothirv.  T  v  »s  subject  to  such  nt$ 


96  THE    GENTLEMAN    IN    BLACK. 

when  I  was  a  boy:  but  it  is  a  long1  time,  a  very  long  time, 
since  I  have  had  an  attack  of  the  kind." 

"  What  do  you  call  it?"  inquired  the  gentleman  in  black. 

"  Oh,  nothing,  nothing,"  replied  the  lawyer,  endeavouring 
to  appear  quite  at  ease;  "  it  was  only  a  recurrence  of  early 
prejudices." 

"  On///  a  recurrence  of  early  prejudices!"  exclaimed  he  of 
fhe  elastic  sable  purse.  "  Do  you  call  that  nothing?  Allow 
me  to  tell  you,  sir,  that  there  is  scarcely  anything  to  which  I 
so  decidedly  object  as  such  reminiscences.  And,  permit  me 
to  say,  sir,  that  a  gentleman  of  your  experience  and  good 
sense  ought  to  be  above  such  follies  and  weaknesses.  What 
old  woman's  tale  have  you  got  into  your  head?  Really,  my 
dear  friend,"  (here  he  changed  his  tone,  which  had  been 
somewhat  harsh,  into  one  of  mild  entreaty  and  persuasion,) 
"  I  did  not  expect  this  from  you.  You  have  now  been 
acquainted  with  me  for  some  years;  and  I  should  have 
imagined  that  the  ridiculous  fables  of  the  nursery,  which 
represent  me  as  a  remarkably  ill-behaved  personage,  and 
positively  frightful  in  appearance,  had  long  since  been  eradi- 
cated from  your  recollection." 

"  One  is  not  able,"  replied  Bagsby,  in  a  sort  of  semi- 
apologetical  manner,  "  to  command  one's  feelings  at  all 
times." 

"  So  it  seems,"  observed  the  gentleman  in  black,  drily; 
"  but,  one  would  think  your  own  senses  sufficient  evidence 
to  contradict  the  trumpery  fabrifications  to  which  I  allude. 
Look  at  me,  and  say  if  you  perceive  anything  disagreeable  or 
even  ungentlcmanly  in  my  appearance." 

Bagsby  looked  up,  and  such  was  the  effect  of  the  slight 
attack  which  he  had  undergone  from  "  early  impressions," 
that  he  spoke  but  the  truth  w  hen  he  replied,  "  1  must  say  that 
1  have  seen  you  look  better  in  every  respect." 

"  If  such  be  your  opinion,"  said  the  dark  elderly  gentle- 
man, "  it  is  useless  for  us  to  attempt  to  proceed  to  business 
this  morning;"  and  he  immediately  began  to  haul  home  the 
coils  of  his  long  black  silk  purse  from  the  table,  into  his  black 
breeches'  pocket. 

Bagsby  looked  on  and  sighed,  and  was  just  in  the  act  of 
calling  out  "  Stop!"  when  the  door  of  his  office  opened,  and 
in  walked  Messieurs  Maxwell  and  Ledger.  The  scene  now 
changed  as  quickly  as  in  a  pantomime.  The  black  purse 
rushed  like  a  live  thing  into  its  place,  and  its  owner  arose  and 
took  a  polite  leave  of  the  lawyer,  and,  bowing  to  the  two  other 


THE    GENTLEMAN    IN-BLACK.  97 

gentlemen,  ventured  to  remark  that  he  would  not  interrupt 
their  business  with  Mr.  Bagsby,  as  he  was  just  about  to  take 
his  departure. 

"The  sooner  the  better,"  replied  Mr.  Ledger,  sternly, 
pointing,  at  the  same  time,  to  the  door  ;  and  straightway  the 
gentleman  in  black  sneaked  off  in  a  very  crest-fallen  sort  of 
manner — as  the  vulgar  saying  is,  "  with  his  tail  between  his 
legs," — insomuch  that  the  lawyer  was  astonished  at  perceiv- 
ing the  extreme  diminution  of  his  importance,  and  the  mean 
and  abject  manner  in  which  he  made  his  exit,  keeping  ever 
at  a  most  respectful  distance  from  the  stern  and  upright  old 
merchant. 

Old  Bagsby  is  not  the  only  individual  who  has  been 
saved  from  the  machinations  of  the  gentleman  in  black,  by 
the  recurrence  of  "early  prejudices"  and  the  company  of 
those  whose  presence  is  particularly  objectionable  to  that 
personage. 

If  any  consolation  were  requisite  to  the  man  of  law  for  the 
disappearance  of  the  long  black  purse,  it  was  immediately 
forthcoming  in  the  shape  of  full  and  liberal  payment  for  all 
expenses,  charges,  attendances,  consultations,  stamps,  mes- 
sages, &c.,  &c.,  incident  upon  the  case,  and  in  the  transac- 
tions of  the  Comte  D'Ormalle  during  his  visit  to  England. 
When  these  matters  were  arranged,  Mr.  Maxwell-  stated  that, 
although  the  Comte  had  left  England,  it  did  not  follow  that 
he  should  be  forsaken  by  his  friends ;  and  therefore  he  pro- 
posed that,  as  soon  as  Mr.  Bagsby  could  make  it  convenient, 
he  should  follow  him  to  Paris. 

To  this  suggestion  the  lawyer  would  not,  at  first,  listen  for 
an  instant ;  but  rose  from  his  seat,  and  paced  the  room  in 
very  evident  and  great  agitation,  muttering,  "  Me — me — 
what?  I  go  abroad?  Me!  why,  I  never  was  more  than 
ten  miles  out  of  town  in  my  life,  except  once,  and  then  I'd 
better  have  been  in  bed  all  the  while :"  and  forthwith  he 
began  a  long  and  tedious  tale  about  a  journey  to  Bath,  which 
was  attended  with  inconveniences,  incivility,  over-charges, 
narrow  escapes,  impositions,  and  all  the  various  et  cetera, 
by  which  "  shabby  "  or  inexperienced  travellers  are  beset, 
and  with  the  narration  of  which  they  inflict  no  small  penalty 
on  such  as  are  compelled  to  listen  thereunto.  The  listeners 
in  the  present  case,  however,  had  an  interest  at  stake  in 
keeping  the  story-teller  in  good  humour ;  and  Mr.  Ledger 
gave  a  significant  nod  to  his  partner,  which  said,  "  Let  the 
old  fellow  have  rope  enough!  give  him  time." 


JJ^i  THE    GENTLEMAN    IN    BLACK. 

So,  when  the  elaborate  tale  was  ended,  they  extolled  him 
exceedingly  for  the  judgment  and  discrimination  of  character 
that  he  had  evinced  in  the  said  journey,  and  declared  that  he 
was  perfectly  competent  to  travel  into  any  part  of  the  known 
world.  And  so  it  was  that  old  Bagsby  was  caught  in  his 
c\Y»»  trap,  for  he  had  really,  while  speaking  of  his  unfitncss 
for  locomotion,  been  endeavouring  to  show  oft';  and,  like 
most  of  us,  he  was  highly  delighted  at  receiving  a  compli- 
ment upon  his  knowledge  of  that,  respecting  which  he  was  in 
t.tter  ignorance.  In  common  with  the  generality  of  men 
who  live  apart  from  the  world,  he  had  a  very  sufficiently 
f,ood  opinion  of  his  own  talents  and  acquirements.  There- 
Jore,  when  he  spoke  of  his  ignorance  of  French  customs, 
".anners,  and  laws,  it  was  a  mere  feint  or  ruse  to  enhance 
Jie  value  of  his  services;  for  he  verily  believed  himself  to  be 
i  match  for  the  gentleman  in  black,  in  whatsoever  part  of 
he  world  he  might  happen  to  meet  him.  Such  being  the 
case,  he  was  soon  persuaded,  by  liberal  promises  held  out  to 
him  by  those  who  had  ever  acted  liberally  towards  him,  to 
proceed  with  the  business  in  question,  even  into  the  French 
courts;  and,  immediately  the  consultation  was  at  an  end,  he 
began  to  make  preparations  for  his  departure. 

On  the  fourth  day  after  these  events,  a  packet  sailed  from 
Dover  for  the  opposite  port  of  Calais,  with  what  is  termed  a 
side  wind;  and  on  the  lower  or  leeward  side  of  the  said 
packet  sat  the  lean  lawyer  of  Lyon's  Inn,  in  a  woful  state  of 
agitation,  both  mental  and  corporeal.  It  was  the  first  time 
that  he  had  beheld  the  sea;  and,  consequently,  as  the  little 
vessel  heeled  and  pitched  about  upon  the  face  of  the  billows, 
he  imagined  that  she  was  in  imminent  danger  of  upsetting, 
and  was,  literally,  undergoing  the  horrors  of  a  storm.  The 
keenness  of  the  sea  breeze,  moreover,  affected  him  not  a 
little,  and  rendered  it  very  desirable  that  his  poor  body 
should  be  enveloped  in  certain  paraphernalia,  which  he  had 
purchased  for  an  expected  nocturnal  journey  overland,  and 
which,  for  economy's  sake,  he  had  packed  up  in  his  port- 
manteau. But  that  was  deposited  in  the  cabin  below, 
whereunto  his  le.,rs  refused  to  carry  him;  and,  alas!  there 
was  no  ringing  the  bell  for  Jerry.  So  the  poor  old  fellow  sat 
and  shivered,  and  thought  of  that  meagre  worthy,  and  of  the 
quiet  and  steadiness  of  Lyon's  Inn,  and,  ever  and  anon, 
peeped  through  his  watery  eyes  upon  the  lessening  cliffs  «>t 
his  native  land.  From  this  deplorable  state  of  helpless 
endurance,  he  was  roused  into  activity  by  the  imperative 


THE    GEXTI.r.MAN     IN     BLACK.  ij\t 

demands  of  the  God  Neptune;  therefore  he  arose,  and,  much 
to  his  mortification,  superadded  to  the  usual  tribute,  a  pair  of 
spectacles  and  a  new  hat  and  wig-,  which  went  floating  astern 
amid  a  burst  of  laughter  from  some  of  the  unfeeling  crew. 
But  there  were  other  good  Samaritans  on  board,  who  pitied 
the  lawyer's  case;  and  he  was  soon  enveloped  in  a  seaman's 
coarse  blue  coat,  and  a  striped  woollen  cap  was  placed 
upon  his  head;  and,  thus  metamorphosed,  he  sat  in  doleful 
dumps,  as  though  he  had  been  regularly  enlisted  into  the  sea 
service. 

"  Ha!  ha!  ha!"  laughed  a  deep  hollow  voice  close  at  his 
elbow;  "why,  old  Jerry  himself  would  hardly  know  you  now, 
my  dear  sir.  How  do  you  find  yourself?  Allow  me  to  otter 
you  a  pinch  of  snuff." 

Bagsby  turned  sharply  round,  and  was  not  a  little  startled 
to  find  the  gentleman  in  black  sitting  at  his  side,  apparently 
quite  at  ease.  "  What!"  continued  the  dark  intruder,  "  you 
are  surprised,  eh?  precisely  so!  I  perceive  it;  but,  the  fact 
is,  my  dear  sir,  I  am  a  great  traveller — at  home — everywhere. 
Quite  a  cosmopolite;  and,  wherever  there  is  any  business  to 
be  done,  there  I  am.  So  I  thought,  as  you  would  be  quite 
at  leisure  during  the  passage,  and  we  shall  be  secure 
from  interlopers,  we  might  as  well  take  this  opportunity 
of  talking  over  the  affair  in  which  we  are  respectively 
engaged." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,"  replied  the  lawyer,  distantly, 
and  assuming  as  much  dignity  in  his  new,  or  rather,  old 
dress,  as  if  enveloped  in  the  Chancellor's  robes,  "  I  am  not 
at  leisure." 

"  Precisely  so,"  said  the  gentleman  in  black,  in  a  most 
unperturbed  manner;  "  that  is  as  you  think.  But  the  fact  is. 
I  have  a  proposition  to  make  to  you,  which,  as  a  man  of  sense, 
observation,  and  calculation,  I  am  confident  you  will  find  much 
more  to  your  advantage  than  going  on  this  wild-goose  chase. 
I  have  made  a  brief  memorandum  on  the  subject.  Just  do 
me  the  favour  to  look  over  these  papers." 

"  I  have  lost  my  spectacles,"  replied  old  Bagsby,  sulkily. 

"  My  dear  sir,"  said  the  man  of  the  black-edged  papers, 
"  I  will  lend  you  mine  with  pleasure."  and,  dipping  his  hand 
into  the  black  bag,  which  stood  as  usual  between  his  legs,  he 
drew  forth  a  black  shagreen  case,  from  which  he  took  a  pair 
of  spectacles,  mounted  in  black  tortoise-shell,  and  politely 
handed  them  to  the  lawyer,  who  forthwith  began  readiii"-, 
and  seemed  much  interested  in  what  he  read:  and,  in  tho 


100  THE    GENTLEMAN    IN    BLACK. 

meanwhile,  the  gentleman  in  black  walked  up  and  down  the 
deck,  taking-  snuff  with  as  much  sang  froid  and  ease,  as 
though  he  had  been  on  terra  ftrma.  An  ejaculation  from 
Bagsby,  however,  effectually  disturbed  his  equanimity,  and 
ne  snatched  his  spectacles  from  the  old  fellow's  eyes,  and 
exclaimed,  "  You  know,  sir,  I  have  a  particular  antipathy  to 
swearing!" 

"  My  dear  sir,"  said  the  lawyer,  "  allow  me  to  finish.  The 
scheme  is  wonderful !" 

"  Precisely  so,"  replied  the  owner  of  the  spectacles, 
resuming  his  seat.  "  Loans  to  young  and  thoughtless  spend- 
thrifts, are  by  far  the  best  speculations  iu  which  you  can 
employ  yourself.  What  with  immediate  profits,  accumu- 
lating interest,  extended  connexion,  introductions  and  future 
contingencies — upon  my  darkness!  I  know  nothing  equal  to 
them.  And,  as  for  the  needful,  I  am  sure  I  shall  always  be 

ready  to  advance  on  your  own  security.  But  read  on" 

and,  thus  saying,  he  returned  the  spectacles. 

It  lias  frequently  been  a  matter  of  doubt  with  old  Bagsby, 
whether  he  really  did  read  anything  on  that  occasion,  or 
whether  the  spectacles  he  wore  had  not  a  magical  effect 
upon  his  optics;  for  he  seemed,  as  in  a  vision,  to  behold  a 
succession  of  individuals,  many  of  them  personally  known  to 
him,  approaching  and  proffering  him  securities  for  immense 
loans.  Then  came  others  of  the  higher  class  of  commoners; 
and  anon,  followed  nobles  of  the  first  rank,  either  for  the 
same  purposes,  or  to  effect  exchanges  of  immense  extent  and 
value.  And,  as  he  looked  on,  the  old  lawyer's  self-import- 
ance gradually  increased:  and  he  beheld  his  professional 
duties  so  much  extended,  that  his  offices,  instead  of  being 
confined  to  three  dark  rooms  in  Lyon's  Inn,  seemed  to 
occupy  the  whole  of  one  side  of  one  of  the  new  squares, 
including  separate  departments  for  conveyancing,  and  every 
other  species  of  legal  transactions.  On  and  on  went  the 
process,  and  princes,  dukes,  and  marquesses  appeared  to  be 
waiting  his  convenience,  till  at  length,  in  the  portly  form  of 
one,  he  recognized  Majesty  itself;  and,  so  utterly  was  the 
old  fellow  lost  in  the  delusion,  that  he  exclaimed,  "  It  is  the 
King  himself,  God  bless  him!"  In  an  instant  the  spectacles 
were  snatched  from  his  eyes,  and,  instead  of  being,  as  it 
were,  enthroned  in  the  midst  of  his  suite  of  gorgeous  rooms, 
he  sat,  a  poor  lean,  shrivelled,  meagre  old  man,  trembling  and 
helpless  as  a  child,  at  the  mercy  of  the  w  irids  and  waves,  w  hile 
the  genllemau  in  black  stood  scowling  over  him. 


THE  GENTLEMAN  IN  BLACK.  101 

There  are  certain  poisons,  which,  when  exhibited  in  too 
great  quantities,  have  a  tendency  to  counteract  their  own 
deadly  effects  on  the  human  system:  and  thus  it  was  with  the 
wonderful  prospects  which  the  dark  designer  had  presented 
to  his  intended  victim.  He  had  overdosed  him;  and  he 
plainly  perceived  his  error,  and  was  about  to  plan  a  remedy, 
when  the  lawyer's  good  genius  interfered  in  the  shape  of  a 
somewhat  mountainous  wave,  which  broke  over  the  little 
vessel  and  pitched  him  forward  upon  the  deck,  where  he  fell 
upon  his  knees,  and,  in  that  position,  under  the  influence 
of  bodily  fear,  he  uttered  his  third  and  most  fervent  ejacula- 
tion. 

Thus,  in  consequence  of  his  loyalty  and  seasonable  fear, 
Bagsby  was  freed,  for  a  time,  from  temptation  to  swerve  from 
the  path  of  duty.  The  gentleman  in  black  was  no  more  seen 
on  board  during  the  voyage;  and,  when  they  arrived  at  Calais, 
there  was  no  small  uproar  among  the  sailors  at  missing  the 
"  dingy  fellow  that  seemed  to  have  his  sea  legs  on  board," 
and  who,  they  vowed,  must  have  fallen  over-board,  as  they 
v/ould  defy  even  the  old  one  himself  to  "  bilk  his  passage,  or 
escape  the  Douaniers  on  landing." 


CHAPTER  IX. 

PREVIOUS  to  Bagsby's  arrival  in  Paris,  it  will  be  necessary  to 
look  a  little  into  the  state  of  things  there. 

After  the  Comte's  departure,  matters  went  on  much  as 
usual  at  his  hotel,  for  the  space  of  a  week;  and  then  M.  le 
Comte  de  Tien  a  la  Conr,  who  prided  himself  not  a  little  on 
)iis  skill  in  such  matters,  was  much  scandalized  at  the  manner 
in  which  that  most  important  meal,  dinner,  was  served;  and 
he  could  not  avoid  saying  some  severe  things,  to  certain  of 
the  servants  in  waiting.  He  had,  however,  too  much  of  the 
(good  in  that  respect)  old  school  about  him,  to  begin,  scold- 
ing regularly  in  the  presence  of  a  few  guests,  who  did  him 
the  honour  of  taking  their  commons  with  him  en  famille; 
and,  therefore,  satisfied  himself,  for  the  moment,  with  a  glass 
of  champagne,  and  pulling  a  face  and  pushing  away  from  him 
portions  of  certain  dishes  which,  truth  to  tell,  well  merited 
the  name  he  gave  them  of  "  detestable,"  inasmuch  as  they 

K2 


102  THE    GENTLEMAN    IN    BLACK. 

were  sent  in  by  the  marchand  of  patisserie,  for  the  express 
purpose  of  (as  we  say  in  England)  "  getting  up  a  row"  for  the 
sake  of  coining  to  an  explanation.  The  fact  was,  that  the 
said  marchand  had  heard  an  extraordinary  tale  relative  to 
the  Comte  D'Ormalle's  connexion  with  the  gentleman  in 
black,  which  tale  he  had  most  stoutly  taken  upon  himself  to 
contradict,  because  he  had  had  the  honour  to  serve  the  table 
of  M.  le  Comte  (and  no  nobleman,  he  was  confident,  kept  a 
better  table)  for  many  years,  and  had  been  always  regularly 
paid  whenever  the  Comte  visited  Paris.  But,  alas!  such  is 
the  fleeting  nature  of  even  a  good  name,  that,  when  M.  le 
Comte  suddenly  left  Paris  without  discharging  his  bill,  he  began 
to  doubt.  Therefore,  when  the  Abbe  Beueton  called  upon 
him,  (as  he  felt  himself  bound  to  do,  seeing  that  his  patron 
the  Comte  was  but  ill-disposed  toward  t\\efricandeaux,  &c., 
of  the  said  artist,)  the  said  artist  spake  of  his  wife  and  his 
large,  and  increasing,  little  family;  and,  after  a  brief  explana- 
tion, came  to  the  usual  issue  of  "  a  large  bill  to  make  up,"  "dis- 
appointments," "  arrangements  to  make,  &c.  &c.,"  all  which 
the  abbe  said  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  matter  in  question; 
but  which,  nevertheless,  he  should  represent  in  the  proper 
quarter. 

The  poor  Comtesse  Emilie  had  never,  since  her  marriage 
up  to  that  period,  known  what  trouble  or  anxiety  were.  She 
had  spent  her  time  in  a  constant  round,  or  rather,  a  series  of 
circles  of  gaiety  and  dissipation.  As  for  money,  she  had  no 
idea  of  its  value.  It  seemed  to  her  merely  a  sort  of  custom 
to  put  one's  hand  in  one's  pocket  if  one  lost  at  cards,  or  hold 
it  out  and  receive  something  if  one  won.  And  as  for  bills, 
they  were  to  be  referred  to  the  steward  or  the  Comte.  The 
case  now,  however,  was  very  different.  She  had  no  money, 
the  steward  had  no  money,  and  Monsieur  le  Comte  was  gone 
nobody  knew  where.  At  first  it  struck  her  as  a  very  good 
joke,  an  exceedingly  ridiculous  sort  of  distress,  and  so  she 
went  and  told  her  most  perpendicular  father,  who  averred 
that,  so  far  from  conceiving  the  thing  to  be  a  joke,  he  con- 
sidered it  to  be  a  very  serious,  or,  as  Bagsby  would  have  said, 
"  a  very  ugly  piece  of  business." 

"  But,  nevertheless,  my  dear  Emilie,"  he  continued,  "  as  it 
really  makes  very  little  difference  to  me  where  I  live,  I  shall 
make  it  a  point  not  to  leave  you  unprotected  in  your  present 
situation,  but  wait  and  see  the  end  of  the  afi'air.  In  the 
meanwhile,  despatch  your  toilet  as  quickly  as  possible,  or  we 
shall  be  late  at  the  Duchesse  de  Cherceleon's  select  party." 


THE  GENTLEMAN  IN  BLACK.  103 

To  that  party  and  divers  others  they  went;  and  day  after 
dav  passed  on,  yet  the  Cointe  D'Ormalle  came  not,  and  the 
poor  Comtesse  remembered  with  grief,  and  something  very 
nearly  akin  to  self-reproach,  the  manner  in  which  they  hail 
last  parted.  Duns  became  more  frequent,  and  less  polite 
and  ceremonious;  and  even  her  own  maid,  Lisette  (who,  by 
the  way,  firmly  believed  that  the  Comte  had  been  carried  off 
by  the  gentleman  in  black)  began  to  exhibit  symptoms  of 
peevishness  and  disrespect. 

"  Sweet  are  the  uses  of  adversity !"  The  Comtesse  sat 
alone,  removed  from  the  summer  flies  of  her  prosperity,  and 
thought  on  by-gone  days  of  happiness  with  her  dear  Louis — 
how  he  had  anticipated  her  every  wish:  and  then  she  recol- 
lected the  princely  style  in  which,  without  hesitation  or 
remark,  he  had  so  long  supported  their,  or  rather  her  splendid 
establishment  in  Paris.  It  had  been  the  envy  of  all.  What 
was  the  consequence?  Where  was  poor  dear  Louis?  Had 
he  destroyed  himself?  No!  That  was  too  horrible.  She 
would  not  believe  that.  "  And,  yet,"  she  continued,  "  when 
I  think  on  my  extravagance!  But,  oh!  I  dare  not  look  to 
the  future !"  and  then  the  poor  repentant  lady  wept. 

Let  it  not  be  supposed  that  her  nature  was  so  completely 
altered  as  to  be  ever  in  this  frame  of  mind.  But  in  such  a 
mood  she  was,  when  Comte  Louis,  after  his  narrow  escape 
from  London,  arrived  in  Paris.  She  had  been  thinking  of 
him  alone  for,  at  least,  ten  minutes,  and  had  even  murmured 
his  name,  and  said,  "Oh!  what  would  I  give  to  see  him!" 
when  he  rushed  into  the  apartment,  and  in  a  moment  she  was 
in  his  arms,  vehemently  sobbing,  and  expressing,  as  well  as 
she  could  at  intervals,  her  delight.  And  the  poor  Comte! 
he  perceived  there  was  no  "  acting"  in  the  case,  as  he  had 
whilome  suspected  in  by-gone  days.  All  was  real;  and  he 
pressed  her  to  his  heart  in  fervent  joy  and  gladness.  Neither 
of  them  had  been  so  happy  for  years. 

The  next  morning  all  the  duns  were  dismissed  in  a  way 
perfectly  satisfactory  to  their  feelings;  and  then  the  Comte 
visited  Messieurs  Lafitte,  Barillons,  and  the  other  bankers  to 
whom  remittances  had  been  sent  in  consequence  of  his  trans- 
actions in  England,  and  found  the  amount  of  his  balances  so 
immense,  in  French  livres,  that  he  began  to  think  he  should 
have  a  handsome  surplus,  after  discharging  the  whole  of  any 
accounts  on  black-edged  paper  which  the  gentleman  in  black 
could  produce  against  him.  A  little  consideration,  however, 
convinced  him  of  his  error  on  that  head,  and,  for  a  short 


104  THE    GENTLEMAN    IN    BLACK. 

time,  depressed  his  spirits.  Indeed,  there  are  very  few  of  ns 
who  would  not  be  somewhat  startled  at  beholding-  the  sum 
total  of  what  all  our  expenses  and  extravagances  would 
amount  to  in  eight-and-twenty  years.  So  the  Comte 
D'Ormalle  sighed,  and  ordered  his  carriage,  and  took  a  ride 
with  his  dear  Einilie  in  the  Boulevards,  in  order  that  his 
arrival  might  be  generally  known;  and  the  consequences  ot 
his  re-appearance  were  a  multitude  of  calls  from  the  Comtesse's 
dear  friends,  and  a  visit  from  the  old  bishop  to  himself,  on  par- 
ticular and  private  business. 

The  ancient  and  formal  ecclesiastic  was  far  too  tedious  to 
be  endured  in  detail  by  the  reader.  Let  it  suffice,  therefore, 
to  observe,  that  he  still  kept  harping  upon  the  alienated 
Church  lands,  declared  that  he  had  thought  much  on  the 
Comte's  singular  case;  but  really  —  he  scarcely  knew,  &c. 
&c. — and  finally,  that  he  had  thought  fit  to  convene  a  sort  ot^ 
council — a  few  learned  friends,  men  of  distinguished  parts, 
who  had  already  held  several  meetings  on  the  subject,  and 
were  to  assemble  again  on  the  morrow — when  he  trusted 
that  the  Comte  would  have  the  politeness  to  attend. 

On  the  morrow,  while  the  Comte  was  debating  on  the 
subject  within  his  own  mind,  he  was  most  agreeably  surprised 
by  the  appearance  of  his  lean  legal  adviser,  poor  Bagsby,  who, 
in  spite  of  the  alarm,  fatigue,  and  battering  that  he  had  under- 
gone, instantly  decided  on  attending  "  the  Committee,"  as  he 
called  it. 

"  There  will  be  no  business  done  in  our  first  interview," 
said  he:  "  I  understand  the  nature  of  such  meetings,  and  shall 
plead  fatigue  as  a  reason  for  not  entering  deeply  into  the 
subject.  But  I  shall  have  an  opportunity  of  making  my 
observations,  and  of  judging  what  sort  of  people  we  have  to 
deal  with." 

The  council  in  question  were  assembled  in  a  circular 
Chapter-honse-looking  building,  connected  with  one  of  the 
religious  establishments  in  Paris,  which  it  would  scarcely  be 
correct  to  name.  The  Abbe  of  Grandesdimes  was  president, 
and  the  lowest  place  at  the  board  was  occupied  by  brother 
Dodun,  who  was  admitted  among  his  august  superiors,  in 
consequence  of  his  having  been  the  first  person  intrusted  with 
the  business  in  question. 

"  So  we  may  expect  to  see  the  Comte  to-day,"  said  the 
president,  taking  his  seat.  "  What  time  do  we  dine?  Whoso 
turn  is  it  to  order  dinner?  Ah!  I  remember  now;  my  dear 
Franchelippe — we  may  trust  to  you  always.  But  really,  it 


THE    GENTLEMAN    IN    BLACK.  105 

to  me,  that  the  last  time  we  dined  at  Very's,  we  wore 
not  precisely  treated  with  that  sort  of  respect  which  I  could 
have  wished.  These  miserable  English  at  the  restaurateurs 
are  quite  a  nuisance  !" 

"  i,es  betes!"  exclaimed  the  abbe  Nigaudin,  shrujrging  up 
his  shoulders,  and  eievating  his  eyebrows,  in  an  attempt  to 
look  wise. 

After  a  few  more  observations  and  questions  equally  im- 
portant, a  lean,  cadaverous-looking  member  of  the  council, 
Rateleux  by  name,  put  on  his  spectacles,  and,  opening  a  huge 
manuscript  volume  that  lay  before  him,  said,  that,  if  the  pre- 
sident would  give  hi;ii  leave,  he  would  read  a  tew  extracts, 
from  certain  scarce  works  of  the  ancient  fathers,  which  ap- 
peared in  some  measure  to  bear  upon  the  case  in  point.  And 
then,  after  hemming  three  or  four  times,  he  beg  in  his  task  in 
a  slow  monotonous  tone;  and,  doubtless,  the  hearers  were 
much  edified  thereby,  as  what  he  read  was  written  in  good 
old  monkish  Latin. 

"  When  this  process  had  gone  on  for  some  time,  it  was 
interrupted  by  a  gentle  tapping  at  the  door;  and  brother 
Dodun,  by  virtue  of  his  office,  as  no  menials  were  allowed  to 
be  present  at  this  important  consultation,  went  to  ascertain 
the  cause. 

"  The  Comte  D'Ormalle  is  come,"  said  he,  gently,  on  his 
return  to  the  table.  Then  followed  a  whispering  conference 
among  the  brethren,  whether  they  should  awaken  the  presi- 
dent; but  that  pillar  of  the  church  missed  the  soothing  tones 
of  brother  Rateleux,  and  saved  them  the  trouble  of  deciding. 

"  Admit  the  Comte  by  all  means,"  said  he,  most  graciously, 
as  soon  as  he  understood  the  state  of  the  case:  and  brother 
Dodun  forthwith  performed  his  office,  and  requested  the 
Comte  to  walk  in.  The  Comte  accordingly  stepped  forward, 
and,  with  a  slight  nod  of  acknowledgment  to  the  humble 
brother,  en  passant,  advanced  towards  the  table  where  the 
dignitaries  were  sitting.  Dodun  then  attempted  to  close  the 
door,  but,  finding  some  obstacle  in  the  way,  peeped  behind 
to  ascertain  what  it  might  be,  and  was  in  no  small  degree 
astonished  and  dismayed,  at  finding  his  face  close  to  that  of 
our  old  friend  Bagsby,  who  pushed  forward  without  ceremony, 
and  followed  the  Comte. 

A  fearful  exclamation  from  the  janitor  communicated  his 
alarm  to  the  council  board,  and  there  was  a  general  sauvequi 
pent  movement  among  their  reverences,  which  was  with  some 
difficulty  arrested  by  the  Comte,  who  assured  them,  on  hi* 


106  THE    GENTLEMAN    IN    BLACK. 

honour,  that  the  gentleman  was  only  his  lawyer.  Yet,  for 
some  minutes,  there  was  a  dead  silence  at  the  board,  and  the 
members  thereof  eyed  the  intruder  and  his  bag  with  looks  of 
suspicion:  and  it  must  be  confessed,  that  Bagsby's  appearance 
was  far  from  prepossessing:  for,  not  being  able  to  procure  a 
wig  of  his  own  pattern,  to  supply  the  place  of  that  which  had 
gone  to  sea,  he  had  cheapened  a  second-hand  "  Brutus," 
thinking  it  would  do  very  well  till  his  return  home.  Now, 
the  said  "  Brutus"  was  black,  and  large,  and  full  made,  and 
overshadowed,  with  a  profusion  indkvitory  of  much  earlier 
life,  the  pale  and  shrivelled  face  of  the  ancient  lawyer;  so 
that  the  tout  ensemble  was  most  unnatural.  Added  to  this, 
Bagsby,  like  most  other  men  who  do  not  often  enter  into  a 
ioke,  when  he  did  relish  one,  enjoyed  it  exceedingly;  and 
the  mistake  which  had  just  occurred,  tickled  the  old  fellow's 
fancy  so  much,  that  he  could  not  avoid  chuckling  and 
cachinnating  to  himself,  in  a  manner  that  appeared  very 
unseemly  in  such  august  presence. 

Brother  Dodun,  obeying  a  graceful  wave  of  the  president's 
hand,  placed  a  chair  for  the  Comte,  and  Bagsby  thereupon, 
without  waiting  for  any  invitation,  took  one  for  himself:  and 
then  the  abbe  of  Grandesdimes,  in  his  official  capacity,  ad- 
dressed the  Comte  D'Ormalle  in  a  set  speech,  wherein  he  took 
occasion  to  say  much  of  the  condescension,  paternal  feelings, 
learning,  &c.,  &c.,  of  their  venerable  and  noble  diocesan,  by 
whom  they  had  been  deputed  to  examine  into  this  very 
mysterious  affair.  "  We  have,"  he  continued,  "already  made 
considerable  progress:  but  there  yet  remain  certain  deep  and 
knotty  points  to  be  investigated,  on  one  of  which  we  were 
deliberating  at  the  moment  of  your  arrival.  I  assure  you, 
Monsieur  Le  Comte,  the  laity  have  little  idea  of  the  way  in 
which  we  of  the  clergy  occupy  our  time — the  midnight  oil — 
the" 

Here  old  Bagsby's  cough  was  exceedingly  troublesome,  and 
the  Abbe  Nigaudin  muttered  "  Bete!" 

"  But,"  continued  the  president,  "  far  be  it  from  me  to  arro- 
gate, ei{her  for  myself  or  brethren,  any  other  merit  than  what 
we  may  fairly  claim  for  patience  and  perseverance.  For 
those  qualities,  my  son,  you  may  faithfully  depend  upon  us, 
and,  in  the  meanwhile,  remember  that  the  power  of  the 
church  is  immense.  It  is  true,  that  I  and  my  brethren  here, 
are  but  individual  and  humble  sons  thereof;  but,  nevertheless, 
we  venture  to  counsel  you  not  to  despair;  particularly  as  you 
are  possessed  of  the  means  of  doing  good." 


THE    GENTLEMAN     IN     lil.ALK.  107 

Here  the  president  sat  down  in  a  state  of  exhaustion,  and 
then  there  was  a  whispering  and  looking  at  watches  round 
the  table,  and  then  an  adjournment  until  the  following1  day. 
On  rising  from  table,  each  of  the  members  paid  their  respects 
to  the  Comte,  and  each  in  his  turn,  rang  the  changes  upon  the 
old  topic,  "  the  immense  power  of  the  church,  &c.,"  except 
brother  Rateleaux,  who  squeezed  the  Comte's  hand,  shook 
his  own  head,  and  said  it  was  an  ugly  piece  of  business. 

Bagsby  attended  the  council  on  the  following  day,  in  the 
character  of  plenipotentiary  for  the  Comte,  and  caused  a 
great  sensation  by  affirming  that  he  would  not  advance  a 
single  louis,  on  account  of  any  expenses  that  might  be 
incurred,  until  the  business  was  settled. 

This  determination,  in  which  the  lawyer  was  inflexible, 
caused  the  despatch  of  a  messenger  to  Rome,  from  whence 
he  returned  laden  with  official  documents  called  absolutions, 
indulgences,  &c.,  which  professed  to  exonerate  the  Comte 
from  the  consequences  of  the  various  sins  which  he  had 
agreed  and  been  compelled  to  commit:  and  then  the  gentle- 
man in  black  made  his  appearance  before  the  board,  to  argue 
the  case  in  person.  The  uncomfortable  feelings  that  simul- 
taneously took  possession  of  all  the  ecclesiastics,  when  tie 
first  introduced  himself,  very  soon  subsided:  and  he,  after 
making  his  obeisance  in  a  style  of  courtly  elegance,  took  a 
seat  at  the  board,  and  pulled  a  variety  of  black-edged  papers, 
tied  with  black  tape,  from  his  black  bag,  and,  placing  them  on 
the  table,  looked  round  him  with  an  air  of  calm  composure 
that  seemed  to  say,  "  Here  I  am,  ready  to  answer  anybody 
who  has  anything  to  say  to  me." 

In  the  meanwhile,  Bagsby  had  attached  himself  to  a  mem- 
ber of  the  council,  who  was  likewise  a  Jesuit,  and,  conse- 
quently, well  versed  in  the  science  of  "  mystification."  These 
two  worthies  sate  opposite  the  gentleman  in  black,  to  whom 
the  lawyer  nodded  in  a  knowing  oblique  manner,  which 
spake  as  plain  as  nod  could  speak,  "  I'll  bother  you  yet,  old 
fellow!" 

After  the  minutes  of  the  last  meeting  had  been  read  over, 
the  president  made  a  speech,  during  which,  we  are  sorry  to 
say,  old  Bagsby's  cough  was  again  exceedingly  troublesome, 
and  the  dingy  plaintiff  himself  was  compelled  to  take  a  pinch 
of  blackguard,  to  prevent  him  from  being  guilty  of  the  ungen- 
tlemanly  vice  of  yawning. 

At  length  the  packet  from  Rome  was  produced  in  ilue 
form,  and  the  various  documents  were  read,  by  which  it 


108  THE    GENTLEMAN     IN    BLACK. 

appeared  that  the  Comte  was  relieved  from  all  the  conse- 
quences of  the  past,  and  was  freed  from  all  allegiance,  suit, 
service,  &c.,  towards  the  gentleman  in  black  for  the  future, 
any  bonds,  promises,  &c.,  &c.,  to  the  contrary  notwith- 
standing. 

When  the  reader  was  silent,  the  president  arose,  and, 
waving  his  arm  with  great  dignity,  exclaimed,  "  Behold  the 
power  of  the  Church!  Great,  wonderful,  astonishing,  mar- 
vellous, merciful,  infallible  is  the — hern — In  short,  the  busi- 
ness is  now  at  an  end — Monsieur  Le  Comte  is  perfectly  freed 
from  the  toils. —  Ahem.  As  for  you,  Monsieur,  (turning  to 
the  sable-vested  gentleman)  you  have  no  longer  any  demand 
on,  or  control  over  him;  therefore — therefore,  allow  me  to 
recommend  you  to  retire." 

"  By  no  means,"  replied  the  gentleman  in  black,  "  I  cannot 
admit,  for  a  moment,  that  those  documents  in  any  manner 
affect  the  validity  of  the  Comte's  bond,  voluntarily  entered 
into  with  me.  I  consider  him  to  be  in  the  same  situation,  as 
regards  me,  with  that  of  a  subject  towards  his  sovereign  to 
whom  he  has  sworn  allegiance." 

"  Bah!"  exclaimed  Franchelippe.  "  And  supposing  he 
were?  The  Pope,  you  know,  has  the  yower  of  excommuni- 
cating the  sovereign,  and  absolving  the  subject  from  alle- 
giance." 

"  As  to  the  matter  of  excommunication,"  replied  the  gen- 
tleman of  the  black  bag,  "  it  may  be  as  you  say,  for  aught  I 
know  or  care;  but,  from  the  best  authorities,  I  learn  that  he 
has  not  the  power  of  absolving  any  subject  from  his  allegiance." 

"  You  are  in  a  state  of  deplorable  ignorance,  Monsieur, 
relative  to  the  power  of  the  Church,"  said  the  president;  "  I 
remember  to  have  read  a  great  deal  upon  that  very  subject. 
Perhaps,  brother  Rateleux,  you  will  have  the  goodness" 

Rateleux,  who,  according  to  the  Cambridge  term  of  the 
present  day,  had  been  "  cramming"  himself  upon  the  subject, 
commenced  a  long,  learned,  and  tedious  dissertation  upon 
papal  supremacy;  and  spoke  of  the  donation  of  Constantino 
the  Great;  and  quoted  divers  ancient  chronicles,  deeds, 
speeches,  and  received  opinions — related  how  Clement  the 
Fifth  (who,  as  Pope,  was  of  course  infallible)  declared  in 
the  council  of  Vienna,  that  "  all  the  right  of  kings  depended 
upon  him  alone."  How  Boniface  the  Eighth,  and  Innocent 
the  Fourth,  had  made  similar  assertions  relative  to  various 
kingdoms,  the  former  particularly  claiming  the  kingdom  of 
France  as  "  a  fee  of  the  papal  majesty." 


THE    Oi.NTl.EMAN    IN    BLACK.  109 

•Vhen  this  erudite  display  of  brotlier  Rateleux's  reading 
ftK./  industry  terminated,  there  ran  a  general  bnz  of  appro- 
bation and  triumph  round  the  board,  and  then  the  president 
declared  it  to  be  utterly  impossible  that  anvthinjr  could  be 
said  which  should  have  the  smallest  weight  against  such 
authority.  But  the  gentleman  in  black  appeared  in  no 
degree  dismayed;  and,  after  a  cool  and  deliberate  piuch  of 
snuff,  begged  leave  to  make  a  few  observations. 

"  They  would  be  perfectly  useless,"  said  the  president;  "  a 
mere  waste  of  time,  I  assure  you." 

"  We  cannot  sit  here  all  day,"  observed  Franclielippe, 
gomeuhat  impatiently,  and  looking  at  his  watch. 

"  1  will  not  detain  you  long,"  said  the  black  bond-holder, 
"  for,  although  I  have  no  trifling  knowledge  of  many  works 
quoted  by  the  learned  gentleman,  I  will  not  refer  to  them. 
But  the  fact  is,  I  am  a  great  traveller,  and  have  lately  been 
much  in  England  and  Ireland,  particularly  the  latter;  and  I 
iind  that  the  best  authorities,  and  the  most  zealous  among 
those  of  your  own  church  there,  declare  that  the  pope  has 
not"— 

Here  the  president's  curiosity  got  the  better  of  his  polite- 
ness, and  he  interrupted  the  speaker  by  exclaiming,  "  Well! 
and  how  does  the  good  cause  go  on?  It  is  a  sad  thing  to 
think  of  the  heretical  state  of  those  kingdoms.  Abbies, 
cathedrals,  most  excellent  benefices  I  am  told,  all,  all  in  the 
possession  of  heretics!  Ah!  our  poor  brethren!  But,  tell 
me,  I  beg,  are  things  likely  soon  to  be  better?" 

"  As  for  that,  Monsieur,"  replied  the  dark  advocate  of  his 
own  cause,  "  I  dare  not  speak  positively:  but  I  rather  think 
they  will.  In  the  meanwhile,  however,  what  is  more  to  the 
business  in  hand,  which  I  always  like  to  stick  to,  they  have 
agreed  that  the  pope  does  not  possess  the  power  of" 

"  We  cannot  listen  to  anything  of  that  kind,"  said  the 
president. 

"  Les  bttes!"  exclaimed  Nigaudin. 

"  To  think  of  prescribing  limits  to  the  pow-er  of  his  holi- 
ness!" cried  brother  Dodun,  turning  up  his  eyes,  and  con- 
cluding with  an  emphatic  "  Oh!" 

"  Let  me  tell  you,"  said  Rateleux,  whose  zeal  now  burst 
forth,  in  consequence  of  the  approbation  which  he  had  just 
received — "  Let  me  tell  you,  it  can  be  of  no  consequence 
what  t/ieif  sav.  What!  shall  it  be  allowed  that  a  few 
isolated  members  of  the  universal  church,  shall  njresume  to 
limit  the  powers  of  its  supreme  and  infallible  head?  B&h ! 


110  THE    GENTLEMAN    IN    EI.ACK. 

What  can  their  opinions,  even  supposing  them  to  be  sincere 
weigh  against  the  authorities  which  1  shall,  with  the  per- 
mission of'our  learned  president,  now  proceed  to  quote  <  ' 

Here  the  hard-reading  member  produced  a  paper,  on 
which  an  abundance  of  closely  written  extracts,  from  ancient 
authors,  were  drawn  up  in  dark  array:  but  he  was  prevented 
from  proceeding  in  his  review  thereof,  by  brother  Sapeur.  tin- 
Jesuit,  witli  whom,  as*  we  stated  before,  Bagsby  had  t'ormea 
an  acquaintance. 

"  I  should  recommend  an  adjournment,"  said  the  son  ot 
Loyola,  briefly:  and  the  influence  of  his  fraternity  was  so 
great,  that  the  president  seemed  disposed  to  attend  to  the 
suggestion;  and  even  brother  Rateieauz,  at  a  significant 
glance  from  the  Jesuit,  deposited  the  important  paper  calmly 
amid  the  heap  that  lay  before  him.  The  other  members  of 
the  council  felt  that  there  was  a  mystery  in  the  business,  and, 
as  they  could  not  comprehend  it,  were  wise  enough  to  hold 
their  peace,  thereby  evincing  a  degree  of  prudence  worthy  of 
imitation  in  higher  quarters.  So,  after  a  short  silence,  the 
council  was  uroiten  up. 

"  You  have  taken  a  strange  method  of  assisting  me,"  said 
Bagsby,  when  he  next  found  himself  alone  with  the  Jesuit. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  have  disappointed  you,"  replied  brother 
Sapeur,  "  but  it  was  a  very  delicate  matter;  as  you  would 
say,  a  very  ugly  piece  of  business.  The  point  in  question 
was  one  which,  just  now,  it  would  be  exceedingly  imprudent 
to  agitate.  We  must  act  according  to  circumstances.  The 
time  may  come — ahem — no  matter — that  is  not  exactly  the 
business  between  us." 

"  Have  you  anything  to  propose?"  asked  Bagsby,  "  or  do 
you  mean  to  leave  me  in  the  lurch,  after  all  your  promises ?" 

"  I  have  no  such  intention,"  said  Sapeur;  "  1  propose  to  have 
an  interview  with  the  gentleman  in  black  upon  the  Comte's 
case,  as  I  feel  myself  deeply  interested  therein." 

"  Then  the  sooner  the  better!"  exclaimed  the  individual 
in  question,  as  he  entered  the  room  in  which  this  colloquy 
was  held,  in  his  usual  unceremonious  way — "  the  sooner  the 
better,  as  1  have  much  business  in  hand;"  and  he  seated  him- 
self at  the  table. 

The  Jesuit  looked  for  a  moment  at  Bagsby,  as  though  he 
felt  uncomfortable  at  his  presence;  but,  as  the  lawyer  would 
not  take  the  hint,  he  proceeded  to  address  the  gentleman  in 
black  in  th«  Spanish  language.  His  speech  was  slow,  mono- 
tonous and  mystical,  and  seemed  to  make  no  small  impression 


THE  GENTLEMAN  IN  BLACK.          Ill 

upon  the  hearer,  who,  after  looking  round  for  a  moment 
in  evident  embarrassment,  said,  "  Perhaps — hem — precisely 
so — I  suppose  from  your  dialect  you  are  a  Spaniard?" 

"  I  am  generally  thought  to  be  so,  when  I  speak  in  that 
tongue,"  replied  Sapeur. 

"  Precisely  so,"  said  the  gentleman  in  black:  and  then 
muttered  to  himself  in  an  under  tone,  "  A  double-tongued 
Jesuit,  and  an  old,  wily,  slippery  English  lawyer!  Fearful 
odds!  What  chance  have  /  between  them?  I  don't  feel 
my  self  at  all  comfortable!"  and  he  applied  to  his  black  snuff- 
boxes and  smelling-bottle  with  unusual  vigour,  while  the 
Jesuit  and  Bagsby  conversed  aside  for  the  space  of  five 
minutes,  to  the  great  satisfaction  of  the  latter,  who  was,  how- 
ever, too  prudent  to  allow  any  evidence  thereof  to  appear  on 
his  tutored  countenance. 

"  I  can  draw  .up  the  deed  immediately,"  said  Bagsby, 
speaking  out — "  nothing  can  be  fairer." 

"  If  the  gentleman  does  not  think  fit  to  agree  to  the  propo- 
sition now,  I  will  not  engage  to  offer  it  again,"  observed  the 
Jesuit,  in  a  cavalier  tone. 

"  I  have  a  great  objection  to  delay,"  said  the  gentleman  in 
black.  * 

"  Rashness  is  frequently  more  prejudicial  to  one's  inte- 
rests," rejoined  Sapeur;  and  old  Bagsby  began  pulling  his 
under  lip,  as  was  his  wont  when  concocting  any  new  device. 

"  Half  the  sins  remitted!  Half  the  monies  paid!"  mur- 
mured the  gentleman  in  black. 

"  Precisely  so,  to  use  your  own  words,"  replied  the  Jesuit, 
"  subject  to  the  appropriation  of  the  sum  1  named  for  the 
prosecution  of  certain  schemes,  during  the  progress  of  which, 
whatever  the  end  may  be,  you  must  be  well  aware,  many  of 
your  own  interests  will  be  served." 

"  I  acknowledge  the  truth  of  your  remark,"  said  the  dark 
gentleman.  "  I  confess  that  the  stirring  up  of  men's  passions 
is  gratifying  to  me." 

"  I  am  confident  that  a  person  of  your  good  sense  must 
come  to  a  right  conclusion,"  observed  the  Jesuit. 

"  But  to  postpone  my  claim  to  that  which  is,  as  it  were, 
within  my  grasp!"  added  the  other. 

"  As  it  were,  indeed!"  said  Sapeur.  "  You  will  soon  find 
that  I  and  my  worthy  friend  opposite  have  not  exhausteJ  o>ir 
resources." 

The  gentleman  in  black  sighed,  and  cast  a  gum^sc  ~c 
Bagsby,  and  muttered,  "  Fourteen  year0!"  and  then  sonni 


112  THE    GENTLFMAN    IN    BLACK. 

sudden  and  not  unpleasant  idea  appeared  to  cross  his  mind: 
and  he  sat  musing  and  tapping  the  lid  of  his  black  blackguard 
suurF-box  for  the  space  of  a  minute,  when  he  exclaimed, 
"  Well — then,  be  it  s->!  The  first  loss  is  the  best  when  one 
gets  into  such  hands." 

"  I  beg  leave  to  observe  that  that  is  a  very  ungentlernanly 
observation,"  said  Bagsby. 

"  Never  mind,"  qui>th  the  Jesuit;  "  we  must  make  allow- 
ances. Draw  up  the  deed." 

"  Ay,  ay,"  muttered  Bagsby,  shuffling  up  to  the  table,  on 
which  were  writing  materials  in  abundance;  "  let  me  see. 
Half  the  monies  to  be  returned.  They  are  entirely  under  my 
control,  and  I  shall  give  a  cheque.  Half  the  sins  remitted — 
half  the  time — that  is  fourteen  years — and  at  the  end  of  four- 
teen years  more,  the  question  to  be  resumed  as  left  on  this 
day." 

"  Precisely  so,"  said  the  gentleman  in  black. 

**  We  may  as  well  take  a  walk  in  the  gardens  while  our 
friend  is  engaged,"  observed  the  Jesuit,  "  and  breathe  a 
mouthful  of  fresh  air." 

"  With  all  my  heart,"  replied  the  dark  gentleman;  "it  will 
perhaps  do  me  good,  for,  to  say  the  truth,  I  4on't  feel  quite 
myself  this  morning." 

On  their  return  it  was  evident  that  the  spirits  of  both  were 
much  improved,  whether  from  the  effects  of  the  air,  or  any- 
thing they  had  seen  in  the  gardens  of  the  Tuilleries,  or  that 
they  had  been  complimenting  and  mystifying  one  another, 
must  remain  a  matter  of  uncertainty. 

The  lawyer,  in  the  interim,  had  not  been  idle,  for  the 
deed  was  ready  for  signature,  and  he  presented  it  to  the  gen- 
tleman in  black,  and  requested  him  to  look  over  it. 

"  Bah!"  exclaimed  the  man  of  sables;  "  what  a  rig-marole! 
Four  long  pages!  I  never  could  comprehend  these  endless, 
senseless  phrases — provided — nevertheless — hem — ha!  I  see 
the  heads  are  right.  '  Fourteen  years' — ah — '  half  the 
amount  of — '  renewed  in  fourteen  years' — hem — well — here 
goes  then,  for  once,  to  remit  my  just  and  lawful  claims.  Give 
me  a  pen." 

The  document  was  regularly  signed,  and  witnessed  by 
Sapeur  the  Jesuit,  and  Bagsby,  and  the  cheque  handed  over 
to  the  gentleman  in  black,  who  put  it  carefully  up  in  his  black 
morocco  leather  pocket-book,  and  then,  throwing  himself'back 
in  a  chair,  gave  vent  to  one  of  his  startling  fits  of  immoderate 
laugnter. 


THE    GENTLEMAN    IN    BLACK.  113 

Hereupon  the  Jesuit  looked  somewhat  blank,  and  uttered 
ail  expressive  "  Humph!"  while  Bajrsby's  ancient  and 
meagre  countenance  underwent  not  the  shadow  of  a  change. 

"Do  you  know,"  asked  the  gentleman  of  the  dark  suit, 
addressing  the  latter,  as  soon  as  he  had  recovered  from  his 
hilarious  paroxysm,  "  what  was  my  principal  reason  for  signing 
the  paper  which  you  have  in  your  pocket?" 

"  Not  I,"  replied  the  lawyer;  "  I  neither  know  nor  care. 
All  I  know  is,  that  my  purpose  is  answered,  and  that  is  suffi- 
cient for  me." 

"  Then  I'll  tell  you,"  said  the  gentleman  in  black;  "  I  have 
been  calculating,  that  before  the  expiration  of  fourteen  years, 
you  will  have  ceased  to  be  in  a  condition  to  oppose  me." 

"  Humph!"  grunted  Bagsby;  "  Liter CB  scripttB  manent — 
you  may,  perhaps,  have  no  great  cause  for  congratulating 
yourself  when  the  time  comes." 

"  What  do  you  mean?"  inquired  the  dark  gentleman, 
briskly. 

"  Nothing  more,"  replied  the  lawyer  calmly,  "  than  that 
I  have  taken  proper  care  of  my  client's  interest.  All 
demands  on  either  side,  either  for  money  or  sin,  cease  for 
fourteen  years,  and,  at  the  end  of  that  period,  as  I  have 
reserved  to  the  Comte  an  option  of  cancelling  whichever 
half  of  the  eight-and-twenty  years  he  pleases,  I  suppose  he 
will  find  no  great  difficulty  in  sinning  for  a  second  on  the 
first  year  of  your  renewed  claim,  and  two  seconds  during  the 
second,  and  so  on;  and  moreover,  in  case  he  should  have 
become  particularly  religious  in  his  latter  days,  he  will  have 
the  advantage  of  the  clause  introduced  by  yourself  into  the 
original  bond,  by  which  '  all  sins  committed  before,  and  all 
sins  which  he  may  commit  in  future,  over  and  above  the 
stipulated  agreement,  are  to  be  taken  into  account.'  So, 
altogether,  if  he  makes  proper  use  of  the  money  yet  remain- 
ing in  his  hands,  what  with  interest  and  compound  interest, 
I  think  you  might  almost  as  well  be  in  Chancery.  He,  he! 
Why  don't  you  laugh?"  and  the  old  fellow  cackled  most 
triumphantly,  till  a  fit  of  coughing  put  au  end  to  his  merri- 
ment. 

The  gentleman  in  black  in  the  meanwhile  sat  sadly  crest- 
fallen and  disconcerted,  while  the  Jesuit  appeared  to  be 
absorbed  in  some  deep  and  abstruse  calculations,  his  dark 
-orow  ana  pale  cheek  supported  on  his  left  hand,  as  he 
at  intervals,  "  Fourteen  years — and  fourteen — 

L2 


114  THE    GENTLEMAN    IN    BtACK. 

iwenty-eight — the  mission — the  Bourbons — Ferd — inquisit— 
emancipation — a  glimpse  of  former — hem — magna  est  veritat, 
et — hem — twice  fourteen — a  general — why  not?" 

"Fool  that  I  was!"  exclaimed  the  gentleman  in  black, 
rising  and  stamping  violently  on  the  floor,  "  to  think  of  sign- 
ing any  paper  without  bringing  my  own  lawyer." 

"  It  was  very  imprudent,  certainly,"  replied  Bagsby,  "  but 
what  is  done  cannot  be  undone,  and  you  should  not  bear 
malice.  I  must  now  go  and  report  progress  to  my  client;" 
and  thus  saying,  he  arose  and  took  his  hat. 

"  I  shall  not  lose  sight  of  you,"  exclaimed  he  of  the  black 
habiliment?,  somewhat  angrily;  but,  in  a  moment  curbing  his 
passion,  he  made  an  effort  at  apparent  magnanimity,  and. 
assuming  his  usual  courteousuess,  continued,  "  I  will  do 
myself  the  pleasure  of  calling  upon  you  at  Lyon's  Inn  ere 
long.  I  admire  your  talents,  and  shall  cultivate  a  more 
intimate  acquaintance:  for  you  have  convinced  me  that, 
notwithstanding  a  considerable  portion  of  self-conceit  to 
which  I  plead  guilty,  I  have  yet  much  to  learn.  People  say 
that  I  have  a  very  extensive  circle  of  friends  among  gentle- 
men of  your  profession,  but  I  assure  you  that  the  report  is 
not  to  be  relied  on.  Indeed,  considering  the  facilities  of 
introduction  which  I  possess,  and  the  inducements  I  fre- 
quently have  hi  my  power  to  hold  out,  I  am  often  surprised 
tnat  I  have  not  more  on  my  list." 

"  I  wish  you  a  good  morning,"  said  Bagsby,. taking  his 
leave. 

"  Au  revoir,"  replied  the  gentleman  in  black,  bowing 
politely.  And  so  they  parted. 

A  grand  entertainment  was  given  at  the  Comte  D'Ormalle's 
hotel,  whereat  Bagsby  "  sported"  a  new  wig,  and  %vas  intro- 
duced as  the  Comte's  most  particular  friend,  to  many  noble 
personages,  and  gens  comme  il  faut;  but  a  whisper  of  the 
story  of  "  a  gentleman  in  black"  had  gone  abroad,  and  he 
found  himself  alone  in  a  crowd,  though  the  "  admired  of  ail 
admirers."  The  ladies,  in  particular,  reversing  the  usual 
custom  of  place  aux  dames,  made  way  for  him  wherever  he 
moved.  His  was  a  painful  pre-eminence,  and  therefore  he 
lost  no  time  in  returning  to  the  quietude  of  Lyon's  Inn,  where 
he  and  old  Jerry  were  alive  some  years  ago,  and  going  on  in 
the  old  six-and-eightpenny  style. 

Considering  his  nation  and  his  habits,  it  will  not  appear 
surprising  that  the  Comte  D'Ormalle  did  not  concern  himself 


THE    GENTLEMAN    IN    BLACK.  1 1  !\ 

about  what  might  happen  in  about  eight-and-twcnty  y^ar*, 
Tne  ecclesiastical  council  on  his  case  was  broken  up;  anl 
tne  only  individual  of  that  body  who  appears  to  have  taken 
any  further  interest  in  the  matter  is  brother  Rateleux,  who 
was  long  employed  in  a  deep  investigation  and  learned 
dissertation  upon  the  probability  and  possibility  of  the  gentle- 
man in  black  urging  his  claims,  should  the  Comte  have 
arrived  in  purgatory  before  the  expiration  of  the  period 
during  which  he  had  agreed  to  allow  them  to  remain  dor- 
mant. We  are  happy  to  say  that  the  decision  to  which  he 
came  was,  that,  in  such  a  case,  which,  according  to  the  usual 
tenor  of  human  existence,  may  probably  occur,  the  gentleman 
in  black  will  be  nonsuited.  But  if  the  learned  brother  has 
made  a  false  conclusion,  or  the  Comte  should  survive  the 
stipulated  period,  his  ultimate  fate  must  depend  entirely 
upon  the  question  of  the  pope's  supremacy,  which  maj% 
perhaps,  then  be  argued  at  full  length.  But,  it  is  an 
inquiry  of  too  deep  importance,  and  involved  too  much  in 
the  labyrinths  of  historical  investigation,  for  us  to  venture  an 
opinion  thereupon. 

In  the  meanwhile  they  are  going  on  in  Paris  as  if  they 
cared  nothing  about  the  matter. 


TALES  OF  OTHER  DAY? 


TALES    OF    OTHER    DAYS. 


THE  MAGIC  PHIAL; 

OR,    AN   EVENING    AT    DELFT. 

"  Now,"  said  the  portly  Peter  Van  Voorst,  as  he  buttoned  up 
his  money  in  the  pockets  of  his  capacious  breeches — "  Now 
I'll  home  to  my  farm,  and  to-morrow  I'll  buy  neighbour  Jan 
Hagen's  two  cows,  which  are  the  best  in  Holland." 

He  crossed  the  market-place  of  Delft  as  he  spoke,  with  an 
elated  and  swaggering  air,  and  turned  down  one  of  the 
streets  which  led  out  of  the  city,  when  a  goodly  tavern  met 
his  eye.  Thinking  a  dram  would  be  beneficial  in  counter- 
acting the  effects  of  a  fog  which  was  just  rising,  he  entered, 
and  called  for  a  glass  of  Schiedam.  This  was  brought,  and 
drank  by  Peter,  who  liked  the  flavour  so  much,  that  he 
resolved  to  try  the  liquor  diluted.  Accordingly,  a  glass  of  a 
capacious  size  was  set  before  him.  After  a  few  sips  of  the 
pleasing  spirit,  our  farmer  took  a  view  of  the  apartment  in 
which  he  was  sitting,  and,  for  the  first  time,  perceived  that 
the  only  person  in  the  room,  besides  himself,  was  a  youn,^ 
man  of  melancholy  aspect,  who  sat  near  the  fire-place, 
apparently  half  asleep.  Now,  Peter  was  of  a  loquacious 
turn,  and  nothing  rendered  a  room  more  disagreeable  to  him 
than  the  absence  of  company.  He  therefore  took  the  *:rst 
opportunity  of  engaging  the  stranger  in  conversation. 

"  A  dull  evening,  Mynheer,"  said  the  farmer. 

"  Yaw,"  replied  the  stranger,  stretching1  hiirseit,  aurt 
yawning  loudly,  "  very  foggy,  I  take  it:" — ana  le  rote.  PTTI 
looked  into  the  street. 


120  TALES  OF  OTHER  DAYS. 

Peter  perceived  that  his  companion  wore  a  dress  of  dark 
brown,  of  the  cut  of  the  last  century.  A  thick  row  of  orass 
buttons  ornamented  his  doublet;  so  thickly,  indeed,  were 
they  placed,  that  they  appeared  one  stripe  of  metal.  His 
shoes  were  high-heeled  and  square-toed,  like  those  worn  by 
a  company  of  maskers,  represented  in  a  picture  which  hung 
in  Peter's  parlour  at  Voorbooch.  The  stranger  was  of  a 
spare  figure,  and  his  countenance  was,  as  before  stated,  pale; 
but  there  was  a  wild  brightness  in  his  eye,  which  inspired  the 
farmer  with  a  feeling  of  awe. 

After  taking  a  few  turns  up  and  down  the  apartment,  the 
stranger  drew  a  chair  near  to  Peter,  and  sat  down. 

"  Are  you  a  burgher  of  Delft?"  he  inquired. 

"  No,"  was  the  reply;  "  I  am  a  small  farmer,  and  live  in 
the  village  of  Voorbooch." 

"  Umph !"  said  the  stranger,  "  you  have  a  dull  road  to 
travel — See,  your  glass  is  out.  How  like  ye  mine  host's 
Schiedam  ?" 

"  'Tis  right  excellent." 

"  You  say  truly,"  rejoined  the  stranger,  with  a  smile,  which 
the  farmer  thought  greatly  improved  his  countenance;  "  but 
here  is  A  'iquor  which  no  burgomaster  in  Holland  can  pro- 
cure. 'Tis  fit  for  a  prince." 

He  drew  forth  a  phial  from  the  breast  of  his  doublet,  and. 
mixing  a  small  quantity  of  the  red  liquid  it  contained,  with 
some  water  that  stood  on  the  table,  he  poured  it  into  Peter's 
empty  glass.  The  farmer  tasted  It,  and  found  it  to  excel 
every  liquid  he  had  ever  drank.  Its  effect  was  soon  visible: 
he  pressed  the  hand  of  the  stranger  with  great  warmth,  and 
swore  he  would  not  leave  Delft  that  night. 

"  You  are  perfectly  right,"  said  his  companion,  "  these 
fogs  are  unusually  heavy:  they  are  trying,  even  to  the  consti- 
tution of  a  Hollander.  As  for  me,  I  am  nearly  choked  with 
them.  How  different  is  the  sunny  clime  of  Spain,  which  I 
have  just  left." 

"  You  have  travelled,  then?"  said  Peter,  inquiringly. 

"  Travelled!  ay,  to  the  remotest  corner  of  the  Indies, 
amongst  Turks,  Jews,  and  Tartars." 

"  Eh,  but  does  it  please  ye  to  travel  always  in  that  garb, 
Mynheer?" 

"  Even  so,"  replied  the  stranger;  "  it  has  descended  from 
father  to  son,  through  more  than  three  generations.  See  you 
this  hole  on  the  left  breast  of  my  doublet?" 

The  farmer  stretched  out  his  neck,  and  by  the  dim  light, 


THE    MAGIC    PHIAL.  121 

perceived  a  small  perforation  on  the  breast  of  the  stranger's 
doublet,  who  continued — 

"  Ah!  the  bullet  that  passed  through  itlodg-ed  in  the  heart 
of  my  great-grandsire,  at  the  sack  of  Zutphen." 

"  I  have  heard  of  the  bloody  doings  at  that  place  from  my 
grandfather,  Heaven  rest  his  soul!" 

Peter  was  startled  on  perceiving  the  unearthly  smile  which 
played  over  the  countenance  of  the  stranger,  on  his  hearing 
thi?  pious  ejaculation.  He  muttered  to  himself,  in  an 
inaudible  tone,  the  word  Duyvell  but  was  interrupted  by 
the  loud  laugh  of  his  companion,  who  slapped  him  on  the 
shoulder,  and  cried — "  Come,  come,  Mynheer,  you  look  sad; 
does  not  my  liquor  sit  well  on  your  stomach?" 

"  'Tis  excellent!"  replied  Peter,  ashamed  to  think  that  the 
stranger  had  observed  his  confusion:  "  will  you  sell  me  your 
phial  (f" 

"  I  had  it  from  a  dear  friend,  who  has  been  long  since 
dead,"  replied  the  stranger;  "  he  strictly  enjoined  me  never 
to  sell  it,  for,  d'ye  see,  no  sooner  is  it  emptied,  than,  at  the 
wish  of  the  possessor,  it  is  immediately  re-filled:  but,  harkee, 
as  you  seem  a  man  of  spirit,  it  shall  be  left  to  chance  to 
decide  who  shall  possess  it."-  He  took  from  his  bosom  a  bale 
of  dice:  "  I  will  stake  it  against  a  guilder." 

"  Good,"  said  Peter,  "  but  I  fear  there  is  some  devilry  in 
the  phial." 

"  Pshaw!"  cried  his  companion,  with  a  bitter  smile,  "those 
who  have  travelled  understand  these  things  better.  Devilry, 
forsooth !" 

"  I  crave  your  pardon,"  said  Peter,  "  I  will  throw  for  it;" 
and  he  placed  a  guilder  on  the  table. 

The  farmer  met  with  ill  luck,  and  lost.  He  took  a  draught 
of  his  companion's  liquor,  and  determined  to  stake  another 
guilder;  but  he  lost  that  also!  Much  enraged  at  his  want  of 
success,  he  drew  forth  the  canvass  bag  which  contained  the 
produce  of  the  sale  of  his  corn,  and  resolved  either  to  win  the 
phial  (the  contents  of  which  had  gone  far  to  fuddle  his 
senses,)  or  lose  all.  He  threw  ajrain  with  better  luck;  but, 
elated  at  this,  he  played  with  less  caution,  and  in  a  few 
minutes  was  left  penny  less.  The  stranger  gathered  up  the 
money,  and  placed  it  in  his  pocket. 

You  are  unlucky  to-night,  Mynheer,"  said  he,  with  pro- 
voking indifference,   ^hich  greatly    increased   the   farmer's 
chagrin;  "  but  come,  you  have  a  goodly  ring  on  your  finger; 
will  you  not  venture  that  against  my  phial?" 
H 


122  TALES  OF  OTHER  DAYS. 

The  farmer  paused  for  a  moment — it  was  the  ftiit  ct  an  OT 
friend — yet  he  could  not  stomach  the  idea  of  bemtf  ciearod  ot 
his  money  in  such  a  manner;  what  would  Jan  Biower,  tne 
host  of  the  Van  Tromp,  and  little  Rip  Winkeiaar.  tne 
schoolmaster,  say  to  it  ?  It  was  the  first  time  he  had  ever 
been  a  loser  in  any  game,  for  he  was  reckoned  the  best  harm 
at  nine  pins  in  his  village;  he  therefore  took  the  ring  from 
his  finger — threw  again — and  lost  it! 

He  sank  back  in  his  chair  with  a  suppressed  groan,  &t 
which  his  companion  smiled.  The  loss  of  his  money,  toge- 
ther with  this  ring,  had  nearly  sobered  him,  and  he  gazed  on 
the  stranger  with  a  countenance  indicative  of  anything  but 
good  will;  while  the  latter  drew  from  his  bosom  a  scroll  of 
parchment. 

"  You  grieve,"  said  he,  "  for  the  loss  of  a  few  paltry 
guilders;  but  know,  that  I  have  the  power  to  make  you 
amends  for  your  ill-luck — to  make  you  rich — ay,  richer  than 
the  Stadtholder!" 

"  Ha!  the  fiend!"  thought  Peter,  growing  still  soberer, 
while  he  drank  in  every  word,  and  glanced  at  the  legs  of  the 
stranger,  expecting,  of  course,  to  see  them,  as  usual,  terminate 
with  a  cloven  foot;  but  he  beheld" no  such  unsightly  spectacle; 
the  feet  of  the  stranger  were  as  perfect  as  his  own,  or  even 
more  so. 

"  Here,  said  his  companion,  "  read  over  this,  and  if  the 
terms  suit  you,  subscribe  your  name  at  foot."  The  farmer 
took  the  parchment,  which  he  perceived  was  closely  written, 
and  contained  many  signatures  at  the  bottom.  His  eye 
glanced  hastily  over  the  first  few  lines,  but  they  sufficed. 

"  Ha !  now  I  know  thee,  fiend !"  screamed  the  affrighted 
Peter,  as  he  dashed  the  scroll  in  the  face  of  the  stranger,  and 
rushed  wildly  out  of  the  room.  He  gained  the  street,  down 
which  he  fled  with  the  swiftness  of  the  wind,  and  turned 
quickly,  thinking  he  was  safe  from  the  vengeance  of  him, 
whom  he  now  supposed  to  be  no  other  than  the  foul  fiend 
himself,  when  the  stranger  met  him  on  the  opposite  side,  his 
eyes  dilated  to  a  monstrous  size,  and  glowing-  like  red-hot 
coals.  A  deep  groan  burst  from  tlie  surcharged  breast  of  the 
unfortunate  farmer,  as  he  staggered  back  several  paces. 

"  Avaunt!  avaunt!"  he  cried,  "  Sathan,  I  defy  thee!  1 
have  not  signed  that  cursed  parchment !"  He  turned  and 
fled  in  an  opposite  direction;  but,  though  he  exerted  his  ut- 
most speed,  the  stranger,  without  any  apparent  exertion,  kept 
by  his  side.  At  length  he  arrived  at  the  bank  of  the  canal. 


THE    MAGIC    PHIAL.  123 

and  leaued  into  a  boat  which  was  moored  alongside.  Stii. 
uis  pursuer  lOiiowed,  and  Peter  felt  the  iron  grasp  of  his  hand 
on  tne  nap<.>  of  his  neck.  He  turned  round,  and  struggled 
iiard  10  tree  himself  from  the  gripe  of  his  companion,  roaring 
out  in  agony,  "  Oh,  Mynheer  Duy  vel !  have  pity,  for  the 
sake  of  my  wife  and  my  boy  Karel !"  But,  when  was  the 
devil  ever  known  to  pity?  The  stranger  held  him  tightly, 
and,  spite  of  hi*  struggles,  dragged  him  ashore.  He  felt  the 
grasp  of  his  pursuer  like  the  clutch  of  a  bird  of  prey,  while 
his  hot  breath  almost  scorched  him;  but,  disengaging  himself, 

with  a  sudden   bound,  he  sprung  from  his  enemy,  and 

pitched  headlong  from  his  elbow-chair  on  to  the  floor  of  his 
own  room  at  Voorbooch. 

The  noise  occasioned  by  the  fall  of  the  burly  Hollander, 
aroused  his  affrighted  helpmate  from  the  sound  slumber  she 
had  been  wrapped  in  for  more  than  two  hours:  during  which 
time,  her  husband  had  been  indulging  in  potations  deep  and 
strong,  until,  overpowered  with  the  potency  of  his  beloved 
liquor,  he  had  sunk  to  sleep  in  hre  elbow-chair,  and  dreamed 
the  hellish  dream  we  have  endeavoured  to  relate.  The 
noise  of  his  fall  aroused  his  vrow  from  her  slumber?.  Trem- 
bling in  every  limb  on  hearing  the  unruly  sound  below,  she 
descended  by  a  short  flight  of  steps,  screaming  loudly  for 
help,  into  the  room  where  she  had  left  her  spouse  when 
she  retired  to  rest,  and  beheld  Peter,  her  dear  husband, 

E rostrate  on  the  stone  floor,  the  table  overturned,  his  glass 
roken,  and  the  remainder  of  the  accursed  liquor  flowing  in  a 
stream  from  the  stone  bottle,  which  lay  upset  on  the  ground. 


A  TALE  OF  THE  CIVIL  WARS. 

"  Oh  grief!  beyond  all  other  griefs,  when  fate 
First  leaves  the  young  heart  lone  and  desolate 
In  the  wide  world,  without  the  only  tie 
For  which  it  loved  to  live  or  fear'd  to  die  ; 
Lorn  as  the  hung-up  lute,  that  ne'er  hath  spoken, 
Since  the  sad  day  its  master -chord  was  broken." 

Is  the  little  village  of  E ,  in  Wiltshire,  stands  a  small 

chapel,  which,  although  it  has  not  found  a  place  in  "  The 
Beauties  of  England  and  Wales,"  is  an  object  by  no  means 
devoid  of  interest.  The  supposition  entertained  by  the  local 


124  TALES  OF  OTHER  HAYS. 

antiquaries,  that  it  was  one  of  our  primitive  churches, 
(although  modern  innovations  had  rendered  it  subordinate  to 
the  unarchitectural  mass  designated  as  the  parish  church,) 
is  borne  out  by  its  shape  and  indisputable  antiquity:  and  the 
few  ornaments  which  time  has  left  still  undestroyed  on  the 
walls  serve  to  strengthen  this  opinion. 

Many  associations,  too,  are  connected  with  the  spot  on 
which  it  stands;  tradition  asserts  it  to  have  been  formerly  the 
site  of  a  Roman  encampment;  and  the  existence  of  a  deep 
and  extended  trench  which  reaches  to  a  river  winding  round 
the  base  of  the  hill  on  which  the  chapel  stands,  strengthens 
the  supposition.  The  burial  ground,  where 

"  Each  in  his  narrow  cell  for  ever  laid, 
The  rude  forefathers  of  the  hamlet  sleep," 

contains  many  tributes  to  departed  worth,  erected  by  those 
whose  children  shall  in  turn  perform  for  them  the  same 
melancholy  duty.  But  there  is  one  lonely,  though  not 
wholly  forgotten  grave,  to  which  is  attached  a  tale  which 
furnishes  a  striking  illustration  of  the  manners  of  the  period 
during  which  the  unfortunate  Charles  incurred  the  displeasure 
of  his  rebellious  subjects,  and  the  country  was  disturbed  by 
the  strife  of  the  contending  parties;  when  the  ties  of  friend- 
ship and  kindred  were  severed  by  the  violent  factions,  then 
known  by  the  several  names  of  Cavaliers,  Independents, 
Anabaptists,  Fifth-monarchy-men,  Presbyterians,  &c.,  all 
professing  to  be  guided  by  their  zeal  for  religion,  or  their 
love  for  the  king;  the  licentious  freedom  of  o::e  party  being 
exceeded  in  iniquity  only  by  the  cool  and  deliberately 
atrocious  acts  of  the  other.  But  to  return  from  our  digression. 
The  small  stone  slab,  which  covers  the  grave  alluded  to,  is 
now  cracked  in  many  places,  whilst  around  its  margin  the 
grass  has  risen,  so  as  to  screen  it  from  view,  and  the  weeds, 
forcing  themselves  through  the  fissures,  spread  over  the 
tablet,  from  which  time,  assisted,  perhaps,  by  the  foot  of  the 
wanton  schoolboy,  has  long  since  erased  the  inscription. 

It  was  only  during  my  last  visit  to  this  spot,  that  I  received 
from  the  old  sexton  the  materials  which  enabled  me  to  pre- 
sent the  following  tale.  I  tell  it  because  it  is  of  other  times; 
to  the  relations  of  which,  I  have,  from  my  infancy,  been  most 
passionately  attached. 

Emma  Walgrave  was  the  only  child  of  a  country  gentle- 
man, in  the  village  of  E ,  who  had  sacrificed  his  life,  and 


A    TALE    OF    THE    CIVIL    \VARS.  125 

nearly  the  whole  of  his  property,  in  the  cause  of  Charles  the 
First.  At  the  commencement  of  the  "  troubles,"  as  they  were 
then  emphatically  called,  he  mortgaged  the  greater  part  of 
his  estate  to  a  grasping  attorney  in  the  neighbouring  town, 
and  with  it  equipped  a  troop  of  horse,  which  did  good  service 
for  Charles  in  the  desperate  engagement  at  Nazeby;  but 
their  leader,  and  the  chief  of  his  company,  perished  in  the 
field.  One  of  those  who  escaped  the  disastrous  conflict  was 
Everhard  Champernowne,  the  son  of  a  wealthy  yeoman  of 
Purton;  and  it  fell  to  his  lot  to  be  the  bearer  of  the  sad  tid- 
ings to  the  widow  and  child  of  the  fallen  royalist.  With  a 
heavy  heart  the  young  soldier  returned  home.  The  mission 
was  doubly  painful  to  him,  for  he  was  the  betrothed  of  the 
gentle  Emma.  Those  who  are  lovers  can  tell  how  they  met, 
after  absence  on  a  service  fraught  with  much  danger;  and 
those  who  have  loved  may  still  call  to  mind  such  scenes;  but 
the  pen  cannot  describe  such  moments  of  rapture.  The 
maiden's  sec*ond  thought  was  of  her  father,  (and  who  will  not 
pardon  its  being  her  second  thought?)  when  her  joy  was 
suddenly  clouded  by  her  lover  informing  her  of  his  death. 
Her  widowed  mother,  her  first  burst  of  grief  being  over,  saw 
with  alarm  their  destitute  condition;  whilst  Emma  consoled 
herself  in  that  particular  by  a  reliance  on  the  honour  of  her 
lover,  whose  conduct  became  more  marked  and  affectionate 
than  it  had  been,  even  in  the  lifetime  of  her  father.  Ever- 
hard  returned  to  his  family  at  Purton,  but  made  frequent 
visits  to  his  beloved,  during  which  time  nothing  occurred  to 
interrupt  their  tranquillity.  The  Prince,  afterwards  Charles 
the  Second,  had,  after  many  hair-breadth  escapes,  evaded  his 
pursuers,  and  reached  the  Continent  in  safety.  But  this 
state  of  things  did  not  last  long;  news  soon  arrived  that  the 
exiled  Prince  had  landed  in  Scotland,  and  was  advancing  with 
a  powerful  army  to  claim  his  just  rights.  The  intelligence 
once  more  aroused  both  friend  and  foe  to  monarchy;  and, 
while  some  of  the  royalists  set  out  to  join  their  Prince,  the 
Parliamentarians  assembled  their  forces  in  that  prompt,  yet 
steady  manner,  which  always  characterized  their  proceedings, 
and  strongly  contrasted  with  the  headstrong  zeal  of  the  other 
party,  and  prepared  to  resist  him,  "  to  whom,"  says  the  author 
of '  Boscobel,'  "  they  could  afford  no  better  title  than  Charles 
Stuart."  It  was  then  that  the  young  soldier  tore  himself 
from  the  arms  of  his  beloved,  and  hastened  to  prove  again 
that  valour  which  had  gained  for  him  the  applause  of  older 
and  more  experienced  cavaliers. 


J26  TALES  OF  OTHER  DAYS. 

Wo  shall  not  follow  Everhard  through  his  journey,  whim 
was  one  of  neither  pleasure  nor  security — for  the  Prince  nad 
many  bitter  enemies,  who  were  continually  on  the  watch  to 
entrap  his  adherents — but  return  to  her,  in  whom  all  his 
earthly  hopes  were  centered.  Many  months  passed  away, 
during  which  period  no  tidings  were  heard  of  Everhard.  At 
length  it  was  known  that  the  Prince's  army  had  entered 
England.  All  was  anxiety  and  excitement;  Emma  had  heard 
that  a  battle  would  soon  be  fought,  and  her  heart  sunk  within 
her  when  she  reflected,  that  thougrh  the  victory  might  be 
given  to  the  royalists,  her  lover  might  be  one  of  the  victims 
in  the  fight. 

She  remained  for  some  days  in  torturing  suspense,  when 
intelligence  arrived  that  the  army  of  Charles  was  advancing 
upon  Worcester.  Anxious,  yet  dreading  to  hear  the  issue  of 
the  contest,  the  maiden  would,  for  hours,  sit  at  her  casement, 
and  watch  the  landscape  till  the  sun  had  descended,  and  left 
every  object  undistinguishable.  She  had  thus*vatclied  one 
evening,  whilst  the  sun  was  yet  above  the  horizon,  intently- 
gazing  on  every  figure  that  appeared  in  sight;  but  the  form 
of  her  lover  met  not  her  gaze.  The  rays  of  the  setting  sun 
still  lit  up  the  latticed  windows  of  the  small  chapel,  and 
glowed  in  the  stream  which  wound  round  the  base  of  the  hill. 
In  the  distance  stood  the  town,  the  spire  of  its  noble  church 
rising1  majestically  above  the  houses  which  surrounded  it. 
Not  a  breeze  moved  a  leaf  of  the  stately  elms  which  shaded 
the  house  of  the  once  happy  family.  Twilight  succeeded, 
and  the  Jight-shunning  bat  flitted  in  the  cool  evening,  and 
flapped  its  leathern  wing  as  it  flew  in  fantastic  circles  round 
their  dwelling;  but  the  hour  had  no  charms  for  its  inmates: 
Everhard  had  not  appeared  to  remove  their  anxiety,  and  the 
widowed  lady,  as  the  niarht  arrived,  sought  consolation  in  her 
Bible,  a  chapter  of  which  she  was  reading  to  her  daughter 
who  sat  absorbed  in  her  own  meditations,  her  inward  prayers 
directed  to  the  great  Author  of  all  things,  when  the  distant 
clatter  of  horses'  hoofs  arrested  their  attention. 

"  'Tis  Everhard!"  exclaimed  the  maiden,  in  a  half-smothered 
tone,  partaking  both  of  pleasure  and  doubt — and  her  hand  was 
upon  the  bolt  of  the  door.ere  her  mother  was  aware  of  the  cause. 

•'  Wist,  child,  what  would  ye  do? — Are  we  not  alone,  and 
unprotected? — What  if  it  should  be  some  of  the  wild  and 
lawless  troopers  abroad ?  would  ye  give  such  as  them  en- 
trance? Pr'vthee  withdraw  thy  hand  from  the  fastening, 
and  come  hither. 


A    TALE    01-     Tilt    C1V1I,     VVAKS.  l'2J 

To  these  remonstrances  the  maiden  made  no  reply,  but, 
turning  from  the  door,  was  about  to  resume  her  seat,  when 
the  noise  of  footsteps  was  heard,  and  a  gentle  knock  was 
given  on  the  outside. 

"  Who's  there?"  demanded  the  matron,  shutting  her  Bible, 
and  looking  over  her  spectacles,  while  she  motioned  her 
daughter  to  keep  the  door  fast. 

"'Tis  1,"  replied  a  well-known  voice;  and  the  next  moment 
the  bolt  was  drawn,  and,  Everhard  Champernowne  entering, 
received  in  his  arms  the  almost  fainting  form  of  Ernma.  In 
a  few  brief  words  he  informed  them  of  the  issue  of  the  battle, 
and  of  his  own  danger.  His  buff1  coat,  the  sleeves  of  which 
were  sprinkled  with  blood,  was  cut  and  torn,  and  but  a  rem- 
nant of  the  feather  in  his  morion  was  left;  his  face  looked  wild 
and  haggard,  and  his  whole  appearance  gave  evident  token 
that  he  had  not  been  idle  in  the  bloody  strife. 

"All  is  lost!"  he  mournfully  exclaimed;  "our  army  is 
dispersed,  and  the  Prince  has  fled,  Heaven  knows  whither! 
I  have  ridden  hard  to  escape  from -the  bloodhounds,  who  may 
be  even  now  at  my  heels,  for  they  followed  me  and  Ockle  of 
Marston  for  twenty  miles.  The  poor  fellow  had  his  arm 
broken  by  a  harquebuize  shot;  but  he  is  safely  housed  now, 
and  may  escape." 

"  You  will  remain  here  to-night?"  said  the  widow  and  her 
daughter. 

"  'Tis  impossible,"  replied  Everhard,  "  I  must  get  to  Purton 

before  day-break,  and  conceal  myself,  or ha!  what  noise 

is  that?"  he  suddenly  cried,  as  the  distant  clatter  of  horses' 
hoofs  struck  on  his  ear;  "by  Heaven!  the  blood-hounds  are 
here;  whither  shall  I  fly?" 

"  To  the  secret  place,"  cried  Emma,  eagerly;  "there  is  a 
sliding  panel  in  the  wall  of  the  little  red  chamber  above — 
there  you  may  lie  secure."  As  she  spoke  the  noise  became 
more  distinct,  and  the  voices  of  several  men  were  heard. 
Without  loss  of  time  they  proceeded  to  the  little  chamber  of 
which  Emma  had  spoken,  when  the  hangings  were  drawn 
aside,  and  the  maiden,  touching  a  spring  in  the  oak  wainscot, 
a  panel  slid  back,  and  discovered  a  recess  capable  of  holding 
two  or  three  persons.  Everhard  had  scarcely  entered  it  when 
voices  were  heard  under  the  window,  and,  immediately  after, 
a  loud  knocking  sounded  at  the  door.  To  have  remained 
with  the  fugitive  would  have  tended  but  to  excite  the  sus- 
picion of  the  pursuers:  the  widow  and  her  daughter  therefore 
hastened  down,  just  as  a  female  servant  (their  only  domestic) 


1?8  TATES    OF    OTHER    DAYS. 

had  opened  the  door,  and  five  or  six  men,  habited  as  troopers 
rniered  the  house.     The  state  of  their  dress  and  accoutre 
lueuts  told  that  they  had  been  engaged  in  the  work  of  death 
and,  as  the  light  flashed  on  their  grim  and  determined  fea- 
I'ITOS,  tho  terrified  women  shrunk  from  their  gaze  in  alarm. 

'•  Woman!"  said  the  foremost  of  the  troop,  "  where  is  the 
j-oung  malignant  ye  have  sheltered?" 

What  mean  ye,  sir?"  inquired  the  matron,  endeavouring 
to  conceal  her  agitation. 

"  It  is  not  for  thee  to  interrogate,"  replied  the  trooper; 
'•  waste  not  our  time,  but  tell  us  where  he  is  hidden,  for  the 
Lord  hath  this  day  delivered  into  our  hands  these  sons  of  the 
ungodly,  whom  we  have  smitten  till  the  going  down  of  the 
sun." 

"  He  is  gone  hence,"  said  the  maiden,  in  an  almost  inarti- 
culate voice. 

"  Daughter  of  Moab,"  replied  the  trooper,  taking  a  light, 
and  holding  it  before  her  beautiful  face,  as  a  tear  glistened 
on  her  blanched  cheek;  "  thy  trembling  frame  and  faltering 
voice  tell  me  that  thou  hast  spoken  the  words  of  falsehood. 
In,  brethren,  in,  and  search  the  dwelling  of  these  Moabitish 
women."  As  soon  as  the  signal  for  havoc  was  given,  the  rest 
of  the  troopers  drew  their  swords,  and  dispersed  themselves 
over  the  house,  whilst  the  females  remained  in  the  room 
below,  half  dead  with  fear;  but  in  a  short  time  they  were 
summoned  to  open  the  several  cupboards  and  presses,  in 
which  the  rebel  troopers  imagined  their  victim  might  be  con- 
cealed. 

The  room  to  which  they  principally  confined  their  search 
was  that  in  which  Everhard  was  secreted;  and  they  hesitated 
not  to  tear  down  and  destroy  those  pieces  of  furniture  which 
they  supposed  might  furnish  a  shelter  for  the  fugitive;  while 
the  females  remained  in  a  state  of  frightful  apprehension. 
Some  of  the  troopers  tore  off'  the  bedding,  and  pierced  the 
furniture  with  their  swords;  while  others  struck  on  the  panels 
of  the  oak  wainscot,  in  the  hope  that  they  might  discover, 
by  the  sound,  the  hiding-place  of  their  victim,  whom  they 
knew,  from  the  agitation  of  the  women,  must  be  somewhere 
in  the  house.  On  a  sudden,  one  of  them  struck  the  panel 
which  concealed  the  recess,  with  the  hilt  of  his  sword,  when 
a  hollow  sound  was  returned,  which  plainly  indicated  that  it 
did  not  cover  the  wall  alone. 

"  Come  hither,  brethren,"  cried  the  trooper,  in  a  tone  of 
exultation,  "  and  lend  rue  your  aid  to  te  ir  dow  n  this  wainscot. 


A    TALE    OF    THE    CIVIL    WARS.  129 

for  I  have  a  shrewd  suspicion  that  a  secret  place  is  behind  it. 
Zebulon-fear-the-Lord,  pr'ythee  lend  me  thy  dagger,  it.  is 
much  stronger  than  mine,  and  will  serve  to  force  out  this 
panel." 

The  dagger  was  handed  to  him;  but  his  efforts  to  break 
the  hard  oak,  of  which  the  panel  was  formed,  proved  abor- 
tive. 

"  Hold,"  cried  one  of  his  companions,  as  he  drew  a  petrionel 
from  his  belt,  "  this  will  tell  if  any  one  be  concealed  behind  it. 
1  will  fire  through  the  wood." 

These  words  were  like  an  electric  shock  to  the  nerves  of 
the  poor  maiden,  who,  in  a  frantic  manner,  besought  the 
ruffian  to  spare  the  life  of  her  lover,  and,  falling  on  her  knees 
before  them,  she  entreated  them  to  have  mercy,  while  her 
fair  eyes  streamed  with  tears,  and  her  heaving  bosom  be- 
trayed the  agony  of  her  mind.  But  she  spoke  to  men  whom 
a  gloomy  fanaticism  had  rendered  callous  to  human  misery, 
and  a  grim  smile  played  on  their  countenances  as  they  beheld 
her  distress,  for  it  told  them  their  victim  was  already  within 
their  grasp. 

"  Daughter,"  said  the  first  trooper,  as  he  coolly  wound  up 
the  lock  of  the  large  horse-pistol,  or  petrionel,  he  held  in  his 
hand,  "  we  are  none  of  those  who  do  their  work  negligently; 
the  Lord  of  Hosts  hath  delivered  him  into  our  hands,  is  it 
not  written,  '  the  ungodly  shall  be  cut  off,'  even  as" 

"Oh  spare  him!  spare  him!"  cried  the  agonized  girl,  clasp- 
ing the  knees  of  the  trooper;  "  spare  him,  and  all  we  have  is 
yours." 

"  Tempt  not  a  soldier  of  Emanuel  with  the  riches  of  this 
world,"  replied  the  trooper;  "  away  with  thee,  thou  child  of 
the  ungodly!"  and,  striding  forward,  he  fired  at  the  wall. 
The  report  shook  the  house,  but  high  above  it  rose  the 
shriek  of  the  almost  frantic  Emma;  the  glass  in  the  latticed 
window  showered  down  on  the  floor,  and  the  chamber  was 
filled  with  smoke.  The  terrified  youth,  uninjured  by  the 
bullet — which,  however,  passed  near  him — during  the  con- 
fusion gently  drew  aside  the  panel,  and  emerged  into  the 
chamber.  He  immediately  made  towards  the  door,  thinking 
to  escape  unobserved,  but  two  of  the  troop  were  already  there, 
and  shouted  loudly  at  his  appearance,  while  their  drawn 
swords  were  presented  at  his  breast,  and  he  was  desired  to 
surrender.  They  pressed  forward  to  seize  him,  when,  quickly 
drawing  a  pistol  from  his  belt,  he  presented  it  at  the  foremost, 
whilst  with  his  right  hand  he  drew  his  sword. 
7 


130  TA1ES  OF  01HEK  DAIS. 

"  Down  with  the  son  of  Belial!"  cn«;d  ino  seneanr.  <.?../.« 
troop;  "  smite  him  dead!"  but  Everharu's  niens«ciiis>  aUiiuurt 
kept  them  at  bay,  when  the  serjeaut  tired  nis  uNtui.  me 
shot  was  deadly:  the  unhappy  youth,  stagsrerinp1  back  a  lew 
paces,  fell  prostrate,  and  a  torrent  of  blood  deiugert  the  nuor 
Who  shall  describe  the  anguish  of  the  hapless  Emma  at  tins 
moment?  As  her  lover  fell,  she  burst  from  the  arms  of  her 
mother,  and  threw  herself  upon  the  corpse,  with  a  shriek  so 
loud  and  shrill,  that  it  sounded  like  no  human  cry.  It  was 
followed  by  a  death-like  silence,  interrupted  only  by  the  con- 
vulsive sobs  of  her  widowed  parent. 

"  Thus  perish  the  ungodly,"  said  the  serjeant,  in  a 
drawling  tone.  "  Now,  brethren,  get  to  your  horses,  for  it 
waxeth  late,  and  there  are  more  abroad,  who  must  be 
smitten  with  the  edge  of  the  sword;  tarry  not,  but  let  us 
away,  lest,  peradventure,.the  son  of  the  late  man,  whom  the 
ungodly  call  king,  escape  from  the  land.  But,  first,"  he  con- 
tinued, as  if  a  sudden  thought  had  occurred  to  him,  "  let  us 
possess  ourselves  of  the  vessels  of  gold  and  silver  which  this 
Midianitish  woman  hath." 

He  quitted  the  room  as  he  spoke,  after  casting  a  glance  of 
satisfaction  on  the  corpse  of  the  ill-fated  young  royalist,  from 
which  the  distressed  lady,  assisted  by  her  servant,  was 
endeavouring  to  raise  her  child.  The  heavy  tramp  of  the 
troopers  was  heard  throughout  the  house,  and  the  violence  to 
which  they  resorted  to  obtain  everything  of  value,  was 
indicated  by  the  crashing  of  the  various  articles  of  furniture 
which  contained  anything  portable.  At  length  their  foot- 
steps were  heard  in  the  court  in  front  of  the  house;  imme- 
diately after,  the  trampling  of  their  horses  told  that  they  were 
mounting,  and,  in  a  few  minutes,  they  quitted  the  place  at 
a  round  trot.  The  agonized  mother  listened  to  the  hollow 
sound  of  the  horses'  hoofs,  until  it  died  away  in  silence,  and 
then  again  endeavoured  to  raise  her  child,  who  still  remained 
in  a  state  almost  as  death-like  and  as  pale  as  the  corpse 
of  her  lover.  Having  succeeded  in  removing  her  from  the 
body,  they  bore  her  to  her  chamber,  where  she  remained 
for  several  days  in  a  state  that  left  but  little  hope  of  her 
recovery. 

Intelligence  of  Everhard's  murder  was  conveyed  to  Purton, 
from  whence,  however,  the  Champernownes  had  fled,  to 
escape  the  vengeance  of  the  Parliamentarians,  who,  from 
their  having  espoused  the  cause  of  Charles,  were  much 
incensed  against  them.  The  corpse  of  the  murdered  youth 


A    T4T.E    OF    THE    CIVIL    WARS.  131 

»as  in'prrpH  in  the  church-yard  of  E ,  and  was  attended 

rr>  trio  grave  hv  the  widow  and  her  daughter.  It  was  not 
nnrA  tnis  awtui  ceremony  took  place,  that  Emma  returned  to 
a  Pt<ite  or  consciousness;  her  tears  then  relieved  in  some 
nearee  her  heart's  anguish,  hut  no  smile  was  ever  seen  on 
her  lair  cheek;  her  once  cheerful  and  melodious  voice  was 
changed  for  a  tone  of  melancholy  and  sadness;  her  form 
\vasted,  and,  as  each  year  revolved,  those  who  knew  her  saw 
with  sorrow  that  death  was  gaining  fast  upon  his  victim. 
At  length  her  slight  strength  began  more  rapidly  to  fail,  and 
showed  that  the  affectionate  anxiety  and  attention  of  her 
beloved  parent  were  of  no  avail.  The  only  request  she  was 
wont  to  make  was,  when  the  evening  was  drawing  in,  to  be 
supported  to  the  porch  of  the  door,  where  she  had  often  sat 
with  her  lover  in  happier  days. 

She  was  thus  sitting  one  evening,  while  her  mother  read, 
from  a  volume  of  tracts,  a  passage  in  which  the  afflicted  are 
told  to  look  for  comfort  through  the  merits  of  Him,  whose 
life,  while  on  earth,  was  one  of  sorrow  and  suffering,  when 
a  horseman  was  seen  approaching.  As  he  drew  nearer,  the 
widow  perceived  that  it  was  her  brother,  who  had  fled  from 
England  with  Prince  Charles.  The  cavalier,  dismounting, 
received  her  in  his  arms,  and,  with  a  smiling  countenance, 
informed  her  that  the  exiled  Prince  had  returned,  to  fill  the 
throne  of  his  fathers.  His  attention  was  next  drawn  to 
Emma,  whose  condition  he  beheld  with  evident  sorrow,  and, 
affectionately  pressing  her  hand,  he  bade  her  take  comfort, 
for  that  her  friends  were  hastening  home,  and  the  Prince 
was  now  in  quiet  possession  of  the  throne.  The  maiden 
feebly  returned  the  warm  pressure  of  her  uncle's  hand;  her 
pallid  cheek  flushed  for  a  moment;  a  smile  (her  first  since 
the  death  of  her  lover)  illumined  her  wan,  though  still 
beautiful  countenance;  she  essayed  to  speak,  but  the  sound 
died  away  in  a  scarcely  audible  murmur,  and,  bowing  her 
head,  her  gentle  spirit  fled  for  ever! 

****** 

Her  remains,  and  those  of  her  lover,  have  long  since 
mingled  with  their  kindred  dust,  in  the  church-yard  ol 
E — - — ,  and  the  mutilated  and  defaced  slab,  which  covers 
their  grave,  is  all  that  remains  to  tell  of  their  ill-fated  love! 


132  TALES  OF  OTHER  DAYS. 

FRIAR  RUSH 

A     TALE     OF     FAERIE. 

"  Will  who  bears  the  wispy  fire, 

To  trail  the  swains  among  the  mire." 

PARNKLL. 

IN  days  of  yore  (or  gossips  lied)  England  was  inhabited  by 
those  tiny  gentry,  yclep'd,  in  most  countries,  elves  or  fairies. 
Indeed,  some  contend  that  this  frolicsome  race  is  not  extinct, 
but  that  fairies  are  now  grown  timorous  and  shy,  and  rarely 
visit  the  earth  until  those  of  mortal  mould  are  slumbering 
in  the  arms  of  Morpheus.  How  often  have  we  been  told 
that  the  rings  of  high  grass,  which  may  be  seen  round  the 
trunks  of  huge  oaks,  are  the  places  where  they  have  footed  it 
till  cock-crow,  where  their  reels  have  been  danced  to  the 
measure  of  an  elfin  pipe  ! 

This  harmless  superstition  is,  however,  fast  sinking  under 
the  powerful  attacks  of  time  and  the  march  of  intellectual 
acquirement. — But  to  our  tale. 

In  days  of  yore  (we  admire  that  word  yore,  which  gives 
so  wide  a  field,  and  screens  us  from  the  eye  of  the  critic, 
who  sits  with  cat-like  watch,  prepared  to  pounce  upon  our 
anachronisms) — In  days  of  yore,  then,  there  lived  (no  matter 
in  what  county)  an  ancient  knight,  who  was  the  guardian  of 
a  maiden  of  rare  beauty.  She  was  the  daughter  of  a 
deceased  relative,  and  had  been  left  under  his  protection  for 
several  years,  daily  improving  in  beauty  and  those  accom- 
plishments which  add  to  the  charms  of  a  young  and  lovely 
girl. 

To  conceal  beauty  is  both  difficult  and  dangerous;  for,  the 
more  rigorously  doth  a  guardian  watch  over  the  safety  of  his 
ward,  the  more  doth  the  fame  of  her  charms  increase,  and 
her  protector,  wearied  out  by  sleepless  nights  and  frequent 
false  alarms,  curses  the  cares  of  guardianship,  and  inveighs 
against  that  beauty  he  cannot  contemplate  without  envying 
his  youthful  fellows. 

Sir  Simon  experienced  the  truth  of  this,  and  was  daily 
exposed  to  the  mortification  of  beholding  a  crowd  of  gallants, 
who  each  morning  came  to  inquire  after  her  health,  and  bask 
n  the  sunshine  of  her  beauty.  The  old  knight  watched 


FRIAR    RUSH.  133 

them  intently,  as  each  pressed  the  hand  of  his  ward  to  his 
lips,  and  each  bouquet  that  was  presented  to  her  he  examined 
himself,  to  see  that  no  billet  had  been  secreted  in  it.  Such 
a  lite  of  continual  watching  and  anxiety  would  have  worn 
out  the  most  patient  of  mortals,  much  less  Sir  Simon,  who 
had  not  much  of  that  in  his  composition,  which  has  been 
called  by  some  a  virtue,  and  for  which  Job  was  so  eminently 
distinguished. 

The  knight  deliberated  for  some  time  upon  the  most 
expedient  means  of  alleviating  his  cares,  when,  after  due 
cogitation,  he  resolved  to  get  rid  of  his  anxiety  by  marrying 
her  himself,  without  delay.  Alas!  poor  man.  he  had  not  in 
his  eye  the  famed  fable  of  Scylla  and  Charybdis,  or  he  would 
not  have  thought  of  such  a  dangerous  resolve.  But  fate, 
assisted  by  a  little  being,  whom  we  shall  soon  introduce  to 
our  readers,  willed  it  that  Edith  should  not  become  the  wife 
of  her  guardian.  Among  the  gay  and  handsome  youths  who 
crowded  round  the  beautiful  and  innocent  girl,  was  one 
Sir  Edmund,  a  knight  of  comely  presence  and  undaunted 
valour.  He  alone  had  found  favour  in  the  eyes  of  Edith, 
and  many  schemes  were  thought  of  to  deceive  her  guardian, 
and  escape  from  his  advances,  which  were  now  becoming 
still  more  disagreeable  to  his  lovely  ward;  but,  like  another 
Argus,  he  was  constantly  upon  the  watch. 

Things  stood  in  this  posture,  when,  one  fine  evening,  long 
after  the  evening  bell  had  rung,  the  Fairy  king,  Oberon, 
with  his  queen,  and  elfin  subjects,  were  assembled  together 
under  the  shade  of  a  large  oak  in  a  neighbouring  forest. 
The  full  light  of  the  harvest  moon  shone  over  hill  and  dale, 
and  the  beauty  of  the  evening  made  amends  for  the  warm 
and  sultry  day  which  had  preceded  it.  Many  gambols  and 
antics  were  performed  by  the  elves  before  their  monarch  and 
his  queen,  when  the  king  bade  them  disperse;  but  ere  they 
departed  to  perform  their  deeds  of  good  or  evil  to  the  sons  of 
men,  as  their  own  minds  prompted  them,  his  Elfin  Majesty 
begged  to  know  their  several  destinations.  Various  were 
the  answers  given,  but  only  those  of  two  of  them  are  known. 
The  first  was  that  of  Puck,  or  Robin-good-fellow;  the  other, 
of  the  renowned  Will-o'-the-Wisp,  to  whom  the  alias  of 
Friar  Rush  has  been  given  b_y  the  inhabitants  of  Great 
Britain.  Whether  that  cognomen  was  bestowed  upon  this 
mischievous  being  as  a  sort  of  side  blow  at  the  qualities 
which  have  before  now  been  known  to  lurk  under  a  cowl, 
we  are  not  able  to  determine;  but  certain  it  is,  that  he  was 


134  TALES    OF    OlilfcR    DAYS. 

more  commonly  known  by  that  name  than  any  otner.  ruck 
advanced  at  the  command  of  his  sovereign,  ana,  in  ?  sfmil 
voice,  sung  or  rather  chanted,  the  toiiowinjj  rude  and 
irregular  lines: — 

"  O'er  the  dewy  mead  I'll  sweep, 

To  yonder  turret  high, 
Where  its  weary  inmates  sleep, 

Snoring  heavily. 

"  I'll  dance  upon  yon  maiden's  breast, 

Who  of  her  lover  dreams; 
Then  wake  her  from  her  peaceful  rest, 

And  fly  to  lowlier  queans. 

"  Ploughmen's  noses 

I  will  tweak, 
Their  hair  I'll  pull, 
Their  rest  I'll  break. 
Maidens  I'll  pinch  black  and  blue, 
Ere  the  cock  cry  doodle  doo !" 

As  Puck  concluded,  Friar  Rush  advanced,  and  sung  iu  a 
musical  voice  as  follows : — 

"  Sire,  this  night  I  am  resolved 

Some  shrewd  disport  to  make ; 
When  in  a  lambent  flame  dissolved, 

I'll  dance  o'er  bog  and  brake. 

"  In  yonder  castle  dwells  a  knight, 

Guardian  to  a  maiden  fair, 
I'll  lure  him  from  his  hall  to-night, 

And  conduct  her  lover  there." 

While  these  lines  were  reciting,  several  dark  clouds  were 
sailing  across  the  heavens,  and,  as  the  second  speaker  con- 
cluded, the  moon  was  entirely  obscured.  Instantly  the 
whole  company  of  elves  vanished  with  a  loud  shriek,  which 
made  the  forest  echo,  and  started  the  owl  from  her  favourite 
tree;  while  Will,  rejoicing  at  the  change,  suddenly  trans- 
formed himself  into  a  thin  purple  flame,  in  which  form  he 
flitted  across  the  meadows,  and  entered  the  garden  of  the 
castle  where  Sir  Simon  dwelt.  Here  he  underwent  another 
transformation,  and  took  the  shape  of  the  Lady  Edith,  who 
had  long  since  retired  to  rest.  Not  so  her  guardian.  He 
was  upon  the  watch  for  any  gallants  who  might  be  seeking  a 
uocturnal  interview  with  his  lovelv  ward.  As  he  sat  at  his 


FBIA.R    RUSH  135 

chamber  v  indow,  the  white  dress  of  Edith  caught  his  eye — 
a  second  giance  assured  mm  that  it  was  &he. 

••  Fire  ana  fur.es:5'  exclaimed  the  knight,  starting  from 
Ins  seac,  "  .ny  ward  abroad  at  this  hour!'  He  snatched  up 
his  sword,  to  be  prepared  for  any  gallant  who  might  be  upon 
the  watch,  resolved  to  annihilate  him,  and  descended  with 
speed  into  the  garden.  As  he  advanced  upon  the  figure  ot 
his  ward,  it  receded  from  him,  and  bounded  through  a  hedge 
on  one  side  of  the  garden.  The  knight  followed,  roaring 
cut— 

"  Edith!  slay  I  stay!  ah,  thou  graceless  quean,  have  I 
iherished  thee  so  long  to  be  treated  thus?" 

But  he  was  unheeded  by  what  he  supposed  to  be  his  ward, 
and,  after  following  it  across  a  meadow,  it  suddenly  vanished, 
and,  immediately  afterwards,  a  pale  light  appeared  at  a  short 
distance  on  his  right  hand. 

"  Thank  Heaven!  this  is  my  knave,  Will,  come  to  light 
me  home,"  exclaimed  the  knight,  whose  rage  and  astonish- 
ment were  gradually  giving  way  to  fear,  on  finding  himself 
at  such  a  distance  from  his  castle  at  so  late  an  hour.  He 
advanced  towards  the  light  with  all  speed,  but  it  retreated 
from  him,  and  the  next  moment  he  found  himself  up  to  his 
knees  in  water.  In  spite  of  his  hallooing,  no  one  ap- 
proached. At  length  he  ran  with  all  his  speed  towards  the 
light  which  he  gazed  upon;  when,  great  was  his  astonish- 
ment at  perceiving  a  small  figure,  habited  like  a  grey  friar, 
and  bearing  a  lantern,  from  which  a  pale  light  shone,  or 
rather  flitted.  The  face  of  this  little  being  (who  was  no 
other  than  Friar  Rush)  was  round  and  chubby;  but  the  short 
elf-locks  which  curled  on  his  forehead,  and  the  wild  and 
peculiar  expression  of  his  eyes,  alarmed  the  knight,  who 
recoiled  from  the  unearthly  object  with  affright,  while  the 
following  words  rung  in  his  ears: — 

"  Sir  Knight,  Sir  Knight, 

Don't  angry  be, 
Your  path  I'll  light, 

So  follow  me." 

"  Never!  thou  damned  tormentor  of  the  human  race  I" 
cried  Sir  Simon,  his  courage  awakened  by  the  jeering  of  the 
tricksy  spirit.  "  Wert  thou  of  mortal  mould,  my  good  sword 
should  revenge  me,  and  thou  shouldst  mislead  the  sons  of 
men  no  more!" 


136  TALES  OF  OTHER  DAYS. 

"  Ha!  ha!  ha!  ha!"  laughed  the  elfin  friar.  "  So  valiant, 
old  sir? — Then,  as  you  refuse  my  assistance,  you  are  likely  to 
lay  in  the  meadow  to-night;  for  see,  the  moon  is  hidden,  and 
not  a  star  peeps  out  to  light  you  home  again." 

The  knight  looked  around  him,  and  perceived  that  the  sprite 
spoke  truly.  The  moon  was  entirely  obscured,  and  not  a 
star  sparkled  in  the  heavens;  all  was  pitchy  dark,  and  nothing1 
could  be  seen  but  the  dusky  outlines  of  several  tall  trees, 
whose  height  seemed  magnified  through  the  gloom.  Sir 
Simon  groaned  bitterly,  as  he  saw  his  utter  incapability  of 
regaining  his  home.  His  tormentor  had  disappeared,  so  that 
he  was  now  deprived  of  the  faint  light  which  the  lantern  of  the 
mischievous  spirite  had  afforded  him.  He  prayed  and  swore 
by  turns;  at  one  time  cursed  the  friar  for  leading  him  such  a 
dance;  the  next  moment  supplicated  all  the  saints  in  the 
calendar  to  relieve  him;  offering  them,  as  a  remuneration, 
wax  tapers  as  long  as  his  rapier;  but  all  in  vain!  his  prayers 
and  entreaties,  oaths  and  curses,  were  alike  unheeded!  The 
night  air  blew  chilly,  and  Sir  Simon  felt  the  return  of  another 
tormentor,  the  rheumatism,  which,  awakened  by  the  cold, 
racked  him  in  every  joint.  This  was  beyond  mortal  endurance. 
The  knight  had  often  thought  that  pain  sufficiently  exquisite 
when  sitting  in  his  arm-chair  before  a  good  fire,  but  he  had 
never  felt  it  to  such  a  degree  before.  His  whole  frame  ached, 
and,  shaking  the  damp  from  his  clothes,  he  started  off  in  the 
direction,  as  he  supposed,  of  his  castle;  but  he  had  not  pro- 
ceeded many  steps  before  he  found  the  ground  sinking  under 
him,  and  the  next  moment  he  plunged  into  a  bog  up  to  his 
girdle;  at  the  same  instant  his  tormentor  appeared  skimming 
over  the  bog,  in  a  fantastic  manner,  and  singing  in  a  wild 
tone,  as  follows,  while  his  victim  floundered  in  the  mire: — 

"  Sir  Knight,  Sir  Knight, 
Come  follow  me, 
Through  miry  bog, 
And  swampy  lea. 

"  Through  bramble  and  brier, 
O'er  hill,  through  hollow, 

My  mysty  fire 
You  fain  must  follow." 

"  Leave  me!  leave  me!  thou  accursed  sprite!"  cried  Sir 
Simon,  in  agony;  but  the  elfin  friar  laughed  at  his  entreaties, 
and  sung,  in  mockery: — 


FK1AR    RUSH. 

"  O  fear  not  for  your  ward,  Sn 

She'll  weep  not  for  your  stay, 
For  another  cheers  that  Italy  lirgl  \t 
While  you  are  far  away." 

"  Ha!    tliou  imp  of  Sathan!"   roareu  the 
thou  taunt  me  thus?" 

"Ha!  ha!  ha!  ha!"  laughed  his  tormentor.     "  Yo«» 
chafed,  Sir  Knig-ht!     Hasten  home,  or  your  ward  will  jn-i 
for  your  absence." 

"  Away  with  thee !  away !"  cried  Sir  Simon,  "  and  ceape 
to  torment  me."  He  dashed  forward  as  he  spoke;  but  his 
heart  sank  within  him  as  he  found  'himself  gradually  sinking 
deeper  in  the  bog,  while  his  tormentor  flitted  round  his  head 
like  a  blue-bottle  fly  round  the  ears  of  a  jaded  horse. 
Dreading  to  move  further,  Sir  Simon  remained  for  somo  mo- 
ments in  a  state  of  very  unenviable  suspense,  whilst  the 
sprite  continued  to  jeer  him;  now  flitting  close  to  him,  now 
darting  oft'  to  a  little  distance,  to  lure  his  victim  still  further 
into  the  bog;  but  the  knight  would  not  move  a  step  forward 
in  the  same  direction  as  his  tormentor.  At  length,  after  de- 
liberating for  a  while,  he  made  a  retrograde  movement,  and, 
with  some  difficulty,  backed  out  of  the  bog  in  a  most 
deplorable  condition.  No  sooner,  however,  had  he  gained 
the  firm  ground,  than  he  received  several  smart  buffets  on 
each  side  of  the  face,  from  an  unseen  hand,  and  sundry 
pinches  on  that  part  of  his  person  which  the  inhabitants  of 
upper  earth  designate  the  seat  of  honour.  The  pain  made 
him  roar,  for,  in  the  art  of  pinching,  your  fairy  far  exceeds 
mortals.  Sir  Simon  was  highly  sensitive,  both  mentally  and 
bodily,  and  this  insult  to  both  feelings  roused  him  almost  to 
frenzy.  He  ran  with  the  speed  of  lightning  across  the 
meadow,  pursued  by  a  host  of  invisible  beings,  who  renewed 
their  attacks  upon  him  with  increased  vigour.  The  unfortu- 
nate knight  bounded  forward,  and  reached  the  extremity  of 
the  meadow.  This  inspired  him  with  some  hope  that  he 
should  be  freed  from  his  tormentors  after  he  had  crossed  the 
ditch:  but,  alas!  just  as  he  was  about  to  spring  over  it,  Friar 
Rush  flashed  the  light  of  his  lantern  right  in  the  face  of  Sir 
Simon,  and  he  fell  headlong  into  the  ditch  with  a  terrible 
splash. 

The  hapless  knight  scrambled  out  of  it  in  the  best  manner 

he  could,  and,  gaining  the  opposite  side,  renewed  his  flight, 

still  followed  by  the  elfin   crew,    whose   shouts   of  riotous 

laughter  rung  in  his  ears,  while  their  buffets  and  tweaking* 

N  '2 


138  TALES  OF  OTHER  DAYS. 

were  continued  with  still  greater  violence.  Sweating  a* 
every  pore,  and  goaded  almost  to  death,  the  knight  gained  a 
small  thicket;  but  this  would  not  shelter  him  from  the  attacks 
of  his  pursuers:  he  passed  through  it  with  the  loss  of  his  silk 
robe,  which  was  torn  to  shreds  by  the  brambles.  The  rest  of 
his  apparel  was  most  wofully  endamaged  and  saturated  with 
water,  and  his  shoes  were  full  of  the  same  cooling  fluid.  It 
would  be  tedious  to  detail  the  many  turnings  and  windings 
Sir  Simon  made  to  avoid  his  pursuers,  who  still  followed  close 
at  his  heels.  After  sustaining  a  chase  of  some  hours,  the 
hapless  knight  sunk  exhausted  at  the  door  of  a  small  cottage. 
At  that  moment  a  cock  loudly  crowed  the  first  hour  of  morn- 
ing, a  streak  of  light  appeared  in  the  east,  and  his  elfin 
pursuers  quitted  him  with  a  loud  shriek,  which  echoed  loudly 
over  the  country,  and  awoke  the  cottager  and  his  wife  from 
their  slumbers.  They  descended,  and,  opening  their  door, 
raised  the  knight  from  the  ground,  and  bore  him  into  the 
cottage,  where,  under  their  kind  treatment,  he  soon  recovered 
his  senses.  A  few  hours'  sleep  were  necessary  to  recruit  his 
exhausted  frame;  after  which,  the  knight  departed  for  his 
castle,  having  borrowed  a  horse  and  a  cloak  to  conceal  his 
torn  and  soiled  apparel.  The  morning  had  far  advanced, 
when  he  arrived  in  sight  of  his  castle,  round  which  the 
pigeons  winged  their  flight,  and  the  windows  blazed  in  the 
morning  sun.  As  he  approached  nearer,  sounds  of  laughter 
and  merriment  struck  on  his  astonished  ear.  Arriving  at  the 
gate,  he  was  smitten  with  amazement  at  beholding  a  number 
of  servants,  whom  he  knew  did  not  belong  to  his  household. 
They  were  all  well  armed,  and  Sir  Simon's  mind  misgave  him 
on  beholding  them.  The  impudent  knaves  laughed  at  his 
grotesque  appearance,  when  the  knight,  dismounting,  cried  in 
a  fierce  tone — 

"  What  do  ye  here,  varlets?  am  I  to  be  flouted  at  the  gates 
of  mine  own  castle  ?" 

"  Thou  art  mad,"  said  one  of  the  fellows,  with  an  impudent 
stare; — "  thy  castle,  forsooth." 

"  Away  with  thee,  thou  malapert  slave!"  cried  Sir  Simon, 
greatly  incensed.  He  brushed  past  the  fellow,  and  entered 
his  castle,  where  he  beheld  Sir  Edmund  and  his  ward  stand- 
ing at  a  temporary  altar,  and  the  priest  delivering  the  nuptial 
benediction  upon  the  already  wedded  pair. 

A  few  words  from  Sir  Edmund  explained  the  whole  busi- 
ness. He  was  on  the  watch  when  the  mischievous  sprite  had 
decoyed  Sir  Simon  away,  by  assuming  the  appearance  of  his 


FRIAR    HUSH.  t59 

ward,  and,  during  the  knight's  absence,  had  pleaded  sd 
eloquently  to  the  lady  Edith,  that,  without  waiting  for  tn« 
consent  of  her  guardian,  she  determined  to  be  biassed  by  hci 
own  feelings,  and  blessed  the  gallant  Sir  Edmund  with  hei 
hand. 

Sir  Simon  gulped  his  rage  and  looked  glum;  but,  finding 
there  was  no  remedy  for  the  mischance,  he  pronounced  theii 
pardon,  and  gave  them  his  blessing. 

The  story  says,  that  the  old  knight  lived  many  years  after- 
wards, and  had  very  few  sleepless  nights,  having  with  his 
ward  lost  for  ever  the  cares  of  guardianship. 


GHYSBRECHT,  THE  FREE-LANCE. 

And  hurry-skurry  forth  they  go, 

Unheeding  wet  or  dry; 
And  horse  and  rider  snorte  and  blowe, 

And  sparkling  pebbles  flie. 

BURGER'S  Leonora. 

THE  long  and  violent  struggles  for  the  crown,  maintained  by 
Stephen,  Earl  of  Blois,  against  Prince  Henry,  must  be 
familiar  to  the  reader  of  English  history.  The  former  at 
length  obtained  the  sovereignty,  not,  however,  without  much 
bloodshed,  and  Henry  finally  quitted  England  with  an 
understanding  that  he  should  succeed  to  the  crown  upon  the 
demise  of  his  successful  rival,  an  event  which  happened  not 
long  after  the  cessation  of  hostilities.  It  is  well  known 
that  Stephen,  fearing  to  rely  wholly  upon  the  English, 
brought  over  with  him  many  bands  of  mercenaries  of  almost 
every  nation,  but  for  the  most  part  Flemings,  whose  dissolute 
habits,  insolence,  and  violence,  soon  rendered  them  objects 
of  hatred  and  execration  to  the  English. 

Henry's  first  act,  on  ascending  the  throne,  was  to  demolish 
the  numerous  castles  that  had  been  raised  throughout  the 
kingdom,  during  the  short  but  stormy  reign  of  his  predecessor, 
and  to  disband  the  whole  of  the  foreign  adventurers  above 
mentioned.  This  measure  was  carried  into  effect  with  such 
vigour  and  promptitude,  that  in  a  short  time*  the  refractoi  j 


110  TALES  OF  OTHER  DAYS. 

English  were  subdred.  and  the   aliens   driven  out   of  the 
kingdom. 

These  mercena-:e«  were  men  of  daring  and  reckless  cha- 
racter, and  their  courage  and  experience  in  war  rendered 
t^em  desirable  instruments  in  the  hands  of  the  ambitious  and 
violent.  Owning  neither  country  nor  master,  and  swayed 
«>nlv  by  their  avarice,  their  swords  and  lances  were  ever  at 
V  service  of  those  who  could  afford  most.  The  latter 
weapon  was  much  in  repute  in  those  days,  and  these  men 
were  particularly  dexterous  in  the  use  of  it;  hence  the  name 
of  "  nee-lance,"  which  was  given,  without  distinction,  to 
those  restless  spirits.  Besides  their  pay,  which  was  always 
considerable,  there  was  with  them  another  consideration, 
namely,  plunder;  which  they  seldom  failed  to  get,  even 
though  the  party  they  had  joined  should  have  been  worsted 
in  the  fight;  for,  being  mounted  on  fleet  horses,  they  always 
defied  pursuit. 

Amongst  those  who  had  distinguished  themselves  in  the  late 
contests,  was  one  Ghysbrecht,  captain  of  a  band  of  free- 
lances, who  had  done  good  service  in  the  pay  of  Stephen, 
during  his  struggle  for  the  sovereignty.  He  and  his  band 
had  been  well  paid  for  their  assistance;  but,  calculating  on 
the  possibility  of  a  renewal  of  hostilities,  he  still  lingered  in 
England,  and,  in  the  month  of  October,  A.  D.  1154,  he  and 
his  fellows  had  taken  up  their  abode  at  a  hostelry  in  the  city 
of  Lincoln,  which  was  then  a  place  of  considerable  strength. 

One  fine  evening,  towards  the  latter  end  of  October,  two 
soldiers  were  observed  under  the  walls  of  the  cathedral,  from 
which  they  had  an  extensive  view  of  the  country  around 
Their  dress,  and  their  arms,  which  they  carried  with  them 
showed  that  they  belonged  to  Ghysbrecht's  band.  They 
were  engaged  in  earnest  conversation  as  they  walked  to 
and  fro. 

"  Well,  Bernhard,"  said  he  who  appeared  to  be  the  younger 
of  the  two,  "  think  ye  this  Henry,  when  he  succeeds  to  the 
crown,  will  order  us  home  again  ?" 

"  I  know  not,"  was  the  other's  reply;  "  but  he  is  said  to 
entertain  no  good  will  towards  us,  for  having  helped  his  rival 
to  the  seat  which  by  good  right  belongs  to  him." 

"  Whist,  man! — the  walls  of  this  cathedral  have  ears. 
What  if  some  of  the  sleek  monks  within  should  hear  thy 
words  and  report  them  to  the  king?  Thy  head  would  fly 
from  thy  shoulders  in  the  turning  of  a  die." 


GHYSBRECHT,    THE    FREE-LANCE.  141 

"  Tut,  I  fear  it  not:  King  Stephen  knows  I  have  helped 
him  in  the  hour  of  need.  Seest  thou  that  broad  tree  in  yon 
meadow  to  the  right  ?" 

"  Ay — what  of  it?" 

"  I'll  tell  thee.  Where  that  tree  flings  its  shadow,  King 
Stephen,  in  the  late  battle,  stood  it  manfully  against  a  host  of 
his  enomios,  even  though  his  men  had  fled  from  him.  Earl 
Ranalph  advanced  upon  him,  and  bore  the  kh.g  to  the 
ground;  but,  at  the  same  moment,  I  cast  the  earl  out  of  his 
saddle  with  my  lance,  and  should  have  made  him  prisoner 
had  not  his  fellows  rescued  him.  The  king  then  gave  me 
that  goodly  chain  which  I  lost  at  play  with  Caspar  Hend- 
ricksen." 

"  Ha!  ha!  ha!"  laughed  the  younger  soldier,  "  by  my 
halidame,  thou  hast  set  a  proper  value  on  a  king's  bounty! 
Why,  there  was  enough  to  keep  thee  at  home  all  thy  life, 
without  ever  setting  foot  in  the  stirrup  again." 

"At  home!"  replied  the  other,  with  a  sneer;  "  think'st 
thou  I  can  live  at  home  when  broad  pieces  can  be  won  so 
easily?  The  free-lance  has  no  home.  May  the  fiend  rive 
me  if  I  hold  the  plough  while  I  can  grasp  a  lance  or  rein  a 
good  steed." 

"  Well,  chafe  it  not,  man;  I  meant  not  to  offend  thee. 
See,  who  rides  so  fast  up  yonder  road  ?" 

As  he  spoke,  a  horseman  was  descried  at  some  distance, 
advancing  towards  the  city  at  a  rapid  pace.  The  rider  bore 
a  long  lance,  wore  a  jacket  of  linked  mail,  and  a  basenet,  and 
rode  a  strong  bony  horse,  which  seemed  much  jaded.  The 
two  worthies  continued  their  colloquy. 

"  Who  owns  yonder  castle?"  inquired  Bernhard,  pointing 
to  a  strongly-embattled  building,  on  which  the  sun,  fast 
sinking  towards  the  horizon,  threw  its  departing  rays. 

"  Dost  thou  not  know?"  answered  his  companion;  "  'tis 
Sir  Ralph  Brabazon's,  an  old  knight,  who  promised  our 
captain  his  fair  daughter,  in  reward  for  having  saved  his  life 
in  a  skirmish  with  the  earl's  men  some  short  time  since. 
But  see,  yonder  horseman  approaches.  By  this  light,  'tis 
Conrade  Braquemart! — what  the  fiend  makes  him  ride  so 
fast?" 

The  object  which  had  occasioned  this  remark  arrived  at 
the  city  gates,  and,  on  being  admitted,  rode  hastily  up  the 
street.  In  a  few  moments,  a  trumpet  sounded  from  below, 
which  startled  the  two  soldiers,  and  interrupted  their  conver- 
sation. 


142  TALES  OF  OTHER  DAYS. 

"  Ha!"  cried  Karl,  the  younger  one,  "  that's  our  trumpet 
what  means  this  sudden  summons?  it  bodes  no  good,  me- 
thinks." 

"  Peace !"  muttered  Bernhard,  sullenly;  "  let  us  go  at 
once,  or  we  shall  be  welcomed  with  a  few  of  Ghysbrecht's 
round  oaths.  Sathan  himself  cannot  curse  more  heartily — 
come  to  the  hostelry." 

They  immediately  left  the  spot,  and  repaired  to  the 
hostelry,  where  their  leader  and  the  rest  of  his  followers  were 
assembled  in  council.  The  arrival  of  Conrade  Braquemart 
had  caused  a  great  ferment  amongst  them;  from  him  they 
learnt  that  Stephen  had  paid  that  debt  which  even  kings 
must  discharge,  and  had  bequeathed  the  crown  to  Henry, 
who  had  been  proclaimed  king,  and  had  issued  orders  tor  the 
disbanding  of  all  the  foreign  troops  throughout  the  kingdom. 
This  intelligence  was  by  no  means  pleasing  to  the  ears  of 
these  desperadoes. 

"  'Twonld  be  witless  to  resist  this  mandate,"  said  Ghys- 
brecht  to  his  followers,  who  were  assembled  round  him, 
"  for  'tis  well  known  we  are  not  liked  by  these  raw-boned 
islanders;  we  must  proceed  to  the  coast  at  once."  As  he 
spoke,  his  eye  glanced  hastily  round  the  room.  "  Ho\v  is 
this?"  cried  he;  "  where  are  those  two  louts,  Karl  and 
Bernhard?"  They  entered  at  that  moment,  and  approached 
the  table  where  their  leader  was  sitting.  His  inflamed  eyes 
and  unsteady  hand  plainly  told  that  he  had  drank  deeply  of 
the  liquor  before  him. 

"  How  now,"  he  cried,  or  rather  roared  out,  "  where  the 
fiend  have  ye  been  loitering?  Look  to  my  horse  instantly, 
and  see  that  it  have  but  a  spare  measure  of  corn,  and  no 
water;  we  must  ride  hard  to-night — do  you  hear?  Get  ye 
hence,  knaves,  and  look  to  your  beasts.  You,  Kurl,  remain 
here;  I  have  something  for  your  ear  alone." 

Ghysbrecht's  followers  immediately  repaired  to  the  stables, 
for  the  purpose  of  getting  their  horses  in  readiness,  wondering 
what  could  be  the  occasion  of  his  giving  such  peremptory 
orders,  which  greatly  perplexed  them. 

Ere  twilight  had  spread  its  veil  over  the  city,  the  free- 
lance and  his  band  quitted  the  hostelry,  and,  passing  through 
one  of  the  gates,  soon  reached  the  high  road,  along  whiclt 
they  proceeded  at  a  rapid  rate. 

Leaving  Ghysbrecht  and  his  companions  on  their  way,  wo 
must  proceed  to  describe  the  castellated  building  referred  to 
by  Bernhard.  It  was  a  massive  structure  of  Saxon  origin, 


GHYSBRECHT,    THE    FREE-LANCE.  143 

with  circular  towers  of  a  great  height  at  each  angle.  Its 
walls  were  immensely  thick,  and  the  whole  building  was  in 
those  days  justly  considered  impregnable.  At  this  time  it 
was  held  by  an  old  knight,  named  Sir  Ralph  Brabazon,  who 
had  in  the  late  contest  rendered  Stephen  great  assistance. 
Declining  an  offer  from  that  monarch  of  a  place  near  the 
throne,  he  had  retired  to  his  castle  to  enjoy,  undisturbed,  the 
society  of  his  lovely  daughter,  whose  personal  and  mental 
charms  were  the  theme  of  all  the  neighbouring  youths.  It 
should  be  mentioned,  that  in  a  battle  between  Stephen  and 
his  rival  near  Lincoln,  the  old  knight  was  unhorsed  by  a 
spearman,  who  would  have  slain  him,  had  not  Ghysbrecht 
arrived  in  time  to  strike  down  the  soldier  with  his  mace.  In 
a  transport  of  gratitude  for  this  timely  service,  Sir  Ralph 
grasped  the  hand  of  the  free-lance,  and  swore  to  repay  him 
with  the  hand  of  his  only  child.  As  Ghysbrecht  was  at  the 
time  clad  in  a  rich  suit  of  mail,  and  unknown  to  him,  Sir 
Ralph  doubted  not  but  that  he  had  made  this  promise  to  no 
other  than  a  belted  knight;  but,  how  great  was  his  vexation 
and  sorrow,  on  hearing,  shortly  after,  that  his  word  was 
pledged  to  a  daring  mercenary,  whose  services  were  at  the 
disposal  of  the  highest  bidder. 

On  Prince  Henry's  relinquishing,  for  a  time,  his  claim  to 
the  crown,  upon  the  conditions  before  stated,  hostilities 
ceased,  and  the  old  knight  hastened  to  his  castle,  hoping  that 
Ghysbrecht  might  quit  the  country  without  pressing  his 
claim.  The  free-lance  and  his  band,  shortly  after  the  battle 
near  Lincoln,  removed  to  a  distant  part  of  England,  which. 
in  some  degree,  allayed  the  old  knight's  fears;  but,  not  long 
after,  he  was  both  perplexed  and  alarmed  on  hearing  that 
Ghysbrecht  and  his  fierce  companions  were  again  sojourning 
in  that  city.  Though  it.  grieved  him  to  reflect  that,  in 
refusing  the  demand  of  the  free-lance,  he  should  be  breaking 
his  knightly  word,  yet,  the  prospect  of  his  only  child  be- 
coming the  wife  of  such  a  man,  banished  his  scruples,  and  he 
determined  to  seek  some  noble  youth  whom  he  might  think 
worthy  of  such  a  lovely  partner.  This  was  a  task  of  no 
difficulty,  for  the  wealth  and  beauty  of  the  Lady  Beatrice 
had  already  procured  her  many  admirers.  Sir  Ralph  was  not 
long  in  finding  one,  whose  noble  birth,  gallant  bearing,  and 
comely  person,  led  the  knight  to  suppose  that  his  daughter 
could  not  be  averse  to  the  match.  His  fondest  hopes  were 
realized.  Sir  Aubrey  De  la  Zouch  was  introduced  to  the 
.oveiv  Beatrice;  and,  ere  many  weeks  had  passed,  the  lovers 


144  TALES  OF  OTHER  DAYS. 

were  daily  seen  on  the  ramparts  of  the  castle,  enjoying  tne 
cool  evening  breeze,  and  indulging  in  those  Ibnd  endearments 
which  those  of  riper  years  may  smile  at,  but  which  true  loveis 
alone  can  fully  appreciate.  The  old  knight  was  rejoiced  ;it 
the  success  of  his  plan;  it  was  settled  that  the  marriage 
should  take  place  without  delay;  and  Sir  Aubrey  departed 
for  his  own  castle,  to  make  preparations  for  the  approaching 
ceremony. 

The  evening  on  which  Ghysbrecht  and  b:_  oaim  naa  left 
Lincoln  was  fast  drawing  in,  when  the  *-ady  Beatrice  sat  in 
her  chamber,  attended  by  her  .avuante  waiting-maid,  who 
was  completing  her  bridal  dress.  Sir  Aubrey  was  hourly  ex- 
pected. But  few  of  the  old  knight's  men  were  at  the  castle, 
several  of  them  having  attended  the  young  Sir  Aubrey,  for 
the  purpose  of  assisting  in  the  removal  of  many  necessaries 
for  the  wedding,  to  Sir  Ralph's  castle;  for,  in  those  days, 
good  cheer  was  not  forgotten  upon  such  occasions.  There 
were,  at  this  time,  only  five  or  six  servants  remaining  at  the 
castle,  who  were  busily  engaged  in  making  preparations  for 
the  morrow.  Beatrice  looked  eagerly  over  the  country, 
intently  watching  every  part  of  the  road  which  was  not 
obscured  by  tall  trees  and  hedges,  for  the  approach  of  her 
lover,  Sir  Aubrey — at  times  directing  her  attention  to  the 
cathedral  of  Lincoln  in  the  distance,  which  reared  its  tall 
white  spires  majestically  above  the  city,  now  shown  in  fine 
relief  by  the  dark  and  heavily  charged  clouds  which  lowered 
behind  it.  The  maiden  looked  in  vain  fur  the  glittering  train 
of  her  lover;  for,  no  figures  were  seen,  except  that  of  a  rustic 
returning  from  his  labour,  or  a  solitary  strolling  spearman 
sauntering  along  the  road.  There  was  a  stillness  unbroken 
by  any  sound,  save  the  cawing  of  the  rooks  and  daws  as  they 
winged  their  hasty  flight  to  the  forest,  warning  the  traveller 
to  seek  shelter  from  the  coming  storm.  The  reigning  silence 
which  pervaded  the  evening,  well  accorded  with  the  spirits 
of  the  anxious  maiden:  it  was  a  feeling  which  those  who  have 
loved  can  well  remember — a  languor  which,  though  it 
oppresses  the  heart,  we  are  unwilling  to  dismiss.  Beatrice 
heeded  not  the  gabble  of  her  maid  Maud,  who,  with  a  freedom 
from  time  immemorial  allowed  to  such  persons,  ran  on  in  a 
strain  of  raillery,  which  might,  in  a  moment  of  less  anxiety, 
have  revived  the  drooping  spirits  of  her  mistress,  who  gazed 
intently  on  the  murky  clouds,  whose  edges,  catching  the  la-t 
rays  of  the  setting  sun,  assumed  that  deep  brassy  hue  wliiii, 
generally  portends  a  thunder-storm.  At  length  their  dark 


GHYSBHECIIT,    THE    FREE-LANCE.  145 

masses  began  to  be  illumined  by  an  occasional  flash,  or  a 
quivering  stream  of  light,  which,  shooting  upwards,  playeu  in 
fantastic  lines  across  the  heavens,  and,  as  they  died  away, 
the  deep  prolonged  rumble  of  the  thunder  told  that  the  storm 
was  commencing. 

The  Lady  Beatrice  would  have  viewed  this  warring  of  the 
elements  with  unconcern,  had  it  not  been  for  the  frequent 
exclamations  of  Maud,  who,  as  every  succeeding  flash  quivered 
on  the  floor  of  the  chamber,  screamed  with  terror,  and  be- 
sought her  mistress  to  descend  into  the  hall.  Maud  was  a 
plump,  round,  rosy-cheeked  lass,  a  coquette  in  the  sphere  in 
which  she  moved,  and  had  caused  much  bickering  between 
Sir  Ralph's  park-keeper  and  the  falconer,  who  had  both  been 
smitten  with  her  charms.  Yielding  to  the  entreaties  of  her 
maid,  Beatrice  quitted  her  chamber,  and  repaired  to  the  hall 
where  her  father,  the  old  knight,  sat  playing  with  a  valued 
hawk,  which  was  perched  on  his  fist,  and  talking  to  his  falconei 
about  a  new  hood  for  his  favourite  bird,  which,  by  the  glance 
of  its  quick  bright  eye,  seemed  almost  conscious  of  the  in 
tended  arrangement.  Beatrice  drew  near  her  father,  who 
observed  her  agitation  with  a  smile. 

"  Ay,  ay,"  said  he,  "  I'll  warrant  thou  hast  been  looking 
for  Sir  Aubrey,  and  art  chafed  because  he  has  not  arrived; 
but  do  not  vex  thyself;  he  will  doubtless  be  here  anon:  no 
doubt  the  storm  has  obliged  him  to  seek  shelter  on  the  road. 
Will,  pr'ythee  bring  lights."  A  servant  left  the  hall,  and  Sir 
Ralph  continued — "  Come  hither,  my  child,  and  seat  thyself 
by  my  side:  how  pale  thou  look'st!" 

At  this  moment  the  horn  windows  of  the  hall  were  illumined 
with  a  vivid  flash  of  lightning,  which  rendered  every  object 
in  the  apartment  visible.  The  several  pieces  of  armour  which 
hung  against  the  walls  threw  back  the  strong  glare  of  light, 
and  a  peal  of  thunder  burst  over  the  castle,  which  shook  to 
the  foundation.  Beatrice  clung  to  her  father  in  speechless 
terror,  while  the  red  cheeks  of  Maud,  who  stood  near, 
assumed  an  ashy  paleness.  She  kept  crossing  herself,  and 
ejaculating  prayers  to  the  Virgin,  while  the  two  waiting  men 
attempted,  by  smiling"  at  her  fears,  to  conceal  their  own;  but 
it  was  easy  to  perceive,  bj  their  bewildered  looks,  that  they 
partook  of  the  general  alarm,  which  extended  even  to  the 
large  mastiff' that  lay  at  the  feet  of  the  old  knight,  and  whined 
piteously.  Torches  were  brought,  and  fixed  in  the  iron  staples 
against  the  wall;  but  they  only  served  to  show  the  contrast 


146  TALES  OF  OTHER  DAYS. 

of  their  own  faint  light  with  the  vivid  glare  of  the  lightning1, 
which  still  continued  to  illumine  the  hall,  while  loud  peals  of 
thunder  burst  in  quick  succession  over  the  castle.  On  a 
sudden,  between  one  of  the  pauses  of  the  storm,  the  shrill 
sound  of  a  horn  was  heard  without. 

"  Ha!"  cried  the  old  knight,  "here  is  Sir  Aubrey  at  last! 
Run,  knaves,  open  gate  and  lower  drawbridge!  Quick,  ye 
varlets!" 

The  servants  left  the  hall,  and  a  smile  lit  up  the  pale 
countenance  of  the  Lady  Beatrice,  whose  joy  at  the  sup- 
posed return  of  her  lover  made  her  forget  the  storm,  which 
still  continued  to  rage  with  unabated  fury.  At  length,  the 
heavy  tramp  of  feet  was  heard  without.  Beatrice  rose,  and, 
prepared  with  a  few  words  of  gentle  reproof  for  his  absence, 
flew  to  the  door,  expecting  to  be  clasped  in  the  arms  of  her 
lover;  but  she  recoiled  on  perceiving  the  tall  herculean  figure 
of  a  man  who  entered  at  the  moment.  With  some  difficulty 
she  staggered  to  a  seat,  almost  overpowered  with  mingled 
disappointment  and  alarm. 

He  who  entered  was  clad  in  a  complete  suit  of  mail,  over 
which  he  wore  an  acton  of  tough  leather,  on  which  was 
emblazoned  a  red  griffin.  He  bore  in  his  hand  a  long  lance, 
and  wore  a  sword  and  dagger.  One  glance  sufficed  to  show 
the  old  knight  that  Ghysbrecht,  the  free-lance,  stood  before 
him.  With  an  effort  to  subdue  his  emotion,  he  asked  what 
had  done  him  the  honour  of  a  visit,  at  the  same  time  handing 
a  seat  to  the  unwelcome  guest. 

"  That  ye  shall  know  quickly,"  replied  the  free-lance,  seat- 
ing himself;  "but,  first,  let  your  knaves  wipe  the  rain  from 
my  harness,  for  the  wet  will  rust  it." 

This  request  was  complied  with,  and  Ghysbrecht.  benuing 
a  scrutinizing  glance  on  Beatrice,  continued — 

"  So,  this  is  the  fair  lady,  your  daughter,  who  is  to  reward 
me  for  having  knocked  your  enemy's  basenet  over  his  eyes  in 
the  ruffle  near  Lincoln?  By  my  halidame  and  St.  Anthony 
to  boot,  'tis  a  rich  guerdon!  What  say  ye,  fair  lady?  will  ye 
become  the  bride  of  a  free-lance?" 

Here  he  addressed  a  coarse  remark  to  the  terrified  lady. 
The  withered  cheek  of  Sir  Ralph  reddened  with  rage,  which 
he  could  ill  conceal. 

"  Sir,"  said  he  sharply,  "  this  is  not  fitting  language  for  a 
maiden's  ear;  pr'ythee  cease,  and" — 

"  Ha!"  cried  Ghysbrecht,  in  a  fierce  tone,  "  is  it  so,  Sir 


GHYaBRECHT,    '1HE    FREE-LANCE.  147 

Knight?  is  she  not  mine?  clid'st  thou  not  pledge  thy  word, 
ay,  thy  oath,  that  she  should  be  my  bride?  Look  that  ye 
attempt  not  to  deceive  me,  or  wo  to  thy  grey  head?" 

The  old  knight  dreaded  the  worst  consequences  in  this 
visit;  Ghysbrecht's  words  almost  deprived  him  of  the  power 
of  utterance,  and  he  groaned  bitterly. 

"  Ay,  groan  on,"  continued  the  free-lance,  "  while  I  shall 
read  thy  treachery  to  thee.  Know,  then,  that  I  am  come  to 
claim  my  bride,  of  whom  thou  wouldst  rob  me.  I  am  ac- 
quainted with  thy  base  treachery,  and  will  maintain  my  right 
to  the  death!" 

These  words  struck  to  the  heart  of  the  old  knight,  who 
wrung  his  hands  and  remained  silent.  The  mercenary 
observed  his  anguish  with  a  grin. 

"  Come,"  said  he  to  Beatrice,  "  come,  fair  lady,  you  must 
away  with  me."  Then  raising  his  voice,  he  cried,  "  What  ho! 
Conrade,  Bernhard,  Karl,  where  loiter  ye,  knaves?" 

They  entered  at  this  summons,  followed  by  several  of  theJT 
comrades.  Ghysbrecht  approached  his  victim,  when  the  old 
knight,  starting  up,  threw  himself  at  the  feet  of  the  free-lance. 

"  Oh,  slay  me  here,"  cried  he;  "  lay  my  grey  hairs  in  the 
dust,  but  spare  my  child;  take  not  the  prop  of  my  old  age, 
the  solace  of  my  lonely  widowhood  from  me;  forego  your 
claim,  and  half  my  wealth  is  your's." 

"  Ay,"  replied  the  free-lance,  "  half  thy  broad  lands,  which 
thou  knowest  I  cannot  inherit.  Know,  Sir  Knight,  that  I 
must  bid  you  and  your  countrymen  farewell" 

"  But  hear  me!"  cried  Sir  Ralph,  imploringly;  "  1  ne'er  till 
now  knelt  to  mortal  man,  save  to  his  Grace.  On  my  knees 
I  implore  thee  to  take  pity!" 

"  Peace,  old  man,"  replied  the  free-lance,  coolly;  "  thy 
daughter  is  mine,  were  she  twenty  times  thy  child;  rise,  there- 
fore, and  disgrace  not  thy  knighthood,  for  by  Heaven  and  all 
its  saints  I  will  not  part  with  her  but  with  my  life!" 

"For  our  Lady's  sake,  take  pity!"  cried  the  old  knight; 
"  you  are  a  soldier,  and  have  behaved  manfully  in  many  a 
gallant  encounter.  You  would  not  rob  an  old  man  of  his 
only  child?" 

"  Sir  Ralph,"  calmly  replied  the  free-lance,  "  I  came  pre- 
pared to  meet  such  humble  words,  for  I  well  knew  your  knaves 
were  absent,  else  should  I  have  met  with  taunts  and  reproaches: 
but  you  are  in  my  power;  your  daughter  is  mine,  and  I  would 
not  lose  my  reward  for  a  prince's  ransom." 

The  old  knight  sighed  deeply,  as  he  thought  on  his  utter 


118         TALES  op  OTHER  DAYS. 

incapability  of  resisting  the  free-lance  and  his  band  He 
knew  he  was  in  Ghysbrecht's  power,  and,  in  the  fury  of 
despair,  he  started  on  his  feet,  drew  his  dagger,  and  struck  at 
the  breast  of  the  free-lance  with  all  his  force;  but  the  latter, 
without  any  apparent  exertion,  caught  in  his  iron  grasp  the 
wrist  of  his  adversary  as  the  blow  descended,  and,  wresting 
the  dagger  from  him,  threw  it  to  the  other  end  of  the  hall. 

"  By  the  rood!"  he  exclaimed,  "  I  would  requite  your 
courtesy,  Sir  Knight,  with  a  stroke  of  my  basilard,  but  it 
would  not  be  fitting  to  receive  mv  bride  with  a  red  hand." 

Sir  Ralph  struggled  to  free  himself  from  the  grasp  of  the 
free-lance,  when  the  large  mastiff'  suddenly  sprung  up  and 
seized  Ghysbrecht  by  the  throat.  The  bite  would  have 
been  mortal,  had  it.  not  been  for  a  gorget  of  linked  mail 
which  he  wore.  With  some  difficulty  he  shook  off  the 
faithful  animal,  which  was  instantly  despatched  by  his  com- 
panions. 

"  Bind  the  old  dotard  and  his  knaves,  and  follow  me!" 
cried  Ghysbrecht,  who  threw  his  mailed  arm  round  the  waist 
of  the  fainting  Beatrice,  and  bore  her  out  of  the  hall.  His 
companions  quickly  secured  Sir  Ralph  and  his  men,  by 
binding  them  back  to  back,  and  were  preparing  to  follow 
their  leader,  when  Conrade  Braquemart  espying  Maud,  who 
stood  in  one  corner  of  the  hall,  almost  petrified  with  terror, 
cried — "  So,  comrades,  here  is  my  prize;  by  my  beard,  we 
shall  have  a  merry  night  on't!  Come,  wench,  thou  shall  ride 
with  me." 

As  he  spoke,  he  raised  Maud  in  his  arms,  and  hurried  to 
the  court-yard,  where  his  comrades  had  already  assembled 
with  their  leader,  who  was  lifting  the  almost  lifeless  body  of 
the  Lady  Beatrice  on  his  own  horse.  Conrade,  spite  of  her 
screams,  placed  Maud  before  him,  when  the  whole  troop 
pushed  over  the  drawbridge,  and  soon  left  the  castle  far 
behind  them. 

The  storm  still  raged,  the  thunder  rolled,  the  rain  poured 
in  torrents,  and  the  lightning,  as  it  descended,  rolled  along 
the  ground  like  waves  of  fire.  Such  a  night  would  have 
calmed  the  evil  workings  of  ordinary  minds;  but  to 
Ghysbrecht  and  his  band,  with  the  exception  of  one,  it 
had  no  terrors.  The  lightning,  attracted  by  their  armour, 
formed  a  halo  round  the  helmets  of  the  troop,  who,  nothing 
daunted  at  a  circumstance  they  were  accustomed  to,  cracked 
their  impious  jokes  between  the  pauses  of  the  storm,  as 
freely  as  if  they  had  been  quietly  seated  in  a  hostelry 


GHYSBRECHT,    THE     FREE-LANCE.  149 

There  was  one,  however,  who  could  not  think  of  the  night's 
adventure,  and  its  probable  termination,  without  shuddering: 
this  was  Karl,  the  youngest  of  the  band,  who,  for  having 
saved  the  life  of  Ghysbrecht  in  some  battle,  had  obtained 
that  desperado's  confidence — he,  alone,  saw  the  iniquity  of 
their  proceeding.  The  two  females,  roused  by  the  loud  peals 
of  thunder  to  a  state  of  consciousness,  entreated  for  mercv, 
but  were  only  laughed  at  by  the  savage  band,  who  still  pro- 
ceeded at  a  furious  pace. 

Ghysbrecht  rode  in  advance  of  his  troop,  and  frequently 
called  to  his  companions,  at  the  top  of  his  voice,  to  increase 
their  speed;  but  the  horse  he  rode  was  superior  in  strength 
and  swiftness  to  any  of  their's.  Vexed  at  what  he  considered 
to  be  their  tardiness,  he  fiercely  rebuked  them,  adding  a 
volley  of  oaths  too  frightful  to  be  recorded.  Almost  at  the 
same  instant,  a  thunder-bolt  fell  near,  and,  striking  a  large 
tree,  hurled  it  withered  and  blasted  across  the  road.  With 
some  difficulty  they  surmounted  this  impediment,  and  pro- 
ceeded on  their  way.  Karl,  who  rode  by  the  side  of 
Braquemart,  endeavoured  to  persuade  the  ruffian  to  leave  the 
girl  at  the  next  village,  but  Conrade  replied  only  with  a 
laugh.  He  again  urged  him  to  abandon  his  intention,  when, 
the  ruffian  answered  fiercely,  "  Think  ye  that  I  am  to  lose  so 
fair  a  prize,  because  the  thunder  rolls  a  little  louder  than  it  is 
wont,  and  the  lightning  flashes  quicker  and  stronger  than 
usual  ?  No,  no,  Karl,  keep  thy  sermon  for  fools  and  doddy 
pates!" 

A  peal  of  thunder  drowned  the  remainder  of  the  ruffian's 
speech,  and  a  vivid  flash  of  lightning  glared  over  the 
country;  by  its  light  the  rough  uneven  road  was  shown, 
and,  at  a  little  distance,  a  small  cross  of  freestone  was 
perceived. 

"  Yonder  is  St.  Anne's  Cross,"  said  Karl;  "  leave  the  girl 
here;  there  is  an  abbey  not  more  than  an  arrow's  flight  from 
the  spot,  where  she  may  get  shelter  for  the  night." 

"  Peace,  ninny !"  roared  Braquemart,  "  the  wench  is  mine; 
if  thou  troubles!  me  much  longer,  I  may  make" 

Here  he  was  again  interrupted  by  a  bright  flash,  which, 
descending  in  the  midst  of  the  band,  followed  by  a  tre- 
mendous peal  of  thunder,  brought  Ghysbrecht,  his  horse,  and 
the  Lady  Beatrice,  violently  to  the  ground.  The  troop, 
perceiving  what  had  happened  to  their  leader  and  his  prize, 
instantly  halted,  and  several  of  the  band  dismounted.  "  Our 
o2 


156  TALES  OF  OTHER  DAYS 

leader  is  dead!"  exclaimed  one  of  them,  as  he  lifted  up  the 
lifeless  body  of  Ghysbrecht,  which,  scorched  and  horribly 
disfigured,  presented  an  appalling  spectacle.  His  helmet  had 
been  melted  by  the  intense  heat  of  the  electric  fluid,  and  the 
metal  had  run  in  streams  down  his  shoulders;  his  beard  and 
thick  moustaches  were  singed,  and  not  a  single  feature  of  his 
face  was  distinguishable.  Even  some  of  the  free-lances, 
daring:  and  hardened  as  they  were,  shuddered  with  horror  on 
beholding  the  disfigured  and  blackened  corpse  of  him 
who  had  so  often  led  them  to  battle  and  conquest.  They 
turned  to  the  Lady  Beatrice,  who  appeared  to  have  shared 
the  same  fate;  but  on  lifting  her  from  the  ground,  they  dis- 
covered that  she  had  received  no  external  injury. 

On  a  sudden,  lights  were  seen  advancing,  and  voices  were 
distinctly  heard;  for  the  storm,  as  is  often  the  case,  after 
venting  its  fury  in  one  departing  peal,  gradually  hushed, 
while  th  3  lights  still  continued  to  advance  rapidly.  In  a  few 
moments  a  part)'  of  armed  men  were  observed  approaching, 
preceded  by  four,  who  rode  in  advance  and  carried  torches. 
The  free-lances  were  not  men  to  fly;  indeed,  escape  was 
impossible.  They  were  instantly  in  their  saddles,  and 
awaited,  with  couched  lances,  the  approach  of  the  party. 
Karl  endeavoured  to  restore  the  Lady  Beatrice;  but,  finding 
his  attempt  proved  fruitless,  yet  unwilling  to  leave  her  in 
danger  of  beinsr  trodden  under  the  horses'  feet  during  the 
anticipated  skirmish,  he  bore  her  to  a  bank  by  the  road-side, 
and  left  her  in  the  care  of  Maud,  who,  with  the  help  of  some 
water,  which  she  procured  from  a  small  spring  which  run  near 
the  stone  cross  before  mentioned,  succeeded  in  restoring  her 
mistress. 

At  this  moment  the  party  in  pursuit  came  up;  they  halted 
about  twenty  yards  off,  and,  Sir  Aubrey  advancing,  demanded 
the  surrender  of  the  Lady  Beatrice.  Well  knowing  that 
they  could  not  trust  to  the  knight's  clemency,  the  free-lances 
replied  with  a  torrent  of  abuse.  Sir  Aubrey,  perceiving  that 
it  was  of  no  use  to  parley  with  such  ruffians,  rode  back,  and, 
putting  himself  at  the  head  of  his  party,  advanced  with  the 
fury  of  a  whirlwind  upon  them.  The  old  knight  had,  spite  of 
Sir  Aubrey's  entreaties,  accompanied  the  party  in  pursuit  of 
Ghysbrecht  and  his  band. 

The  mercenaries,  on  perceiving  that  their  pursuers  were 
resolute,  determined  to  meet,  them  with  that  obstinacy  winch 
a  hopeless  case  like  theirs  generally  inspires. 


GHYSBRECHT,    THE    FREE-LANCE.  ,        151 

"  Now,"  cried  Braqucmart,  "  a  firm  hand,  a  well  pitted 
saddle,  and  another  fling  at  these  whoreson  islanders,  ere  we 
part!" 

"  Peace!"  interrupted  Bernhard,  (who,  perceiving  their 
pursuer's  form,  had  ordered  his  companions  to  set  forward 
when  he  should  give  the  word,)  "here  will  be  bloody  work 
of  it  anon.  Ah!  by  Heaven,  they  come!  Now,  if  ye  be 
true  men,  flinch  not;  set  on! — upon  'ern — charge!" 

In  an  instant  the  two  parties  closed,  at  about  midway, 
with  a  dreadful  shock:  nearly  a  score  of  lances  were  shivered 
to  pieces,  and  more  than  half  that  number  of  saddles  were 
emptied:  while  those  who  were  less  fortunate  than  their 
fellows,  lay  sprawling  in  their  gore,  the  shouts  of  those 
above  them,  engaged  in  the  deadly  conflict,  seemed  more  like 
the  yells  of  demons  than  of  mortal  men.  "  A  Brabazon! 
De  la  Zouch  to  the  rescue!"  shouted  one  party;  while  the 
other  answered  with  loud  cries  of  "  Down  with  the  dull 
islanders! — One  blow  for  the  free  companions! — Strike  for 
the  Red  Griffin!" 

Twelve  of  the  free-lances,  in  a  short  time,  lay  on  the 
ground  horribly  mutilated,  while  sixteen  of  the  knight's  men 
were  either  killed  or  disabled.  In  one  place  might  be  seen 
two,  who,  unhorsed,  were  engaged  in  a  deadly  struggle, 
dealing  blows  with  their  daggers  in  the  blind  fury  of  bitter 
enmity;  while  in  another  lay  a  mangled  wretch,  unable  to 
crawl  out  of  the  melee,  trampled  on  by  the  horses,  and 
imploring  his  comrade  to  end  his  agony  by  a  friendly 
thrust.  Horses  snorted,  men  yelled  and  swore,  and  swords 
and  maces  clashed  on  the  armour  of  the  combatants,  who 
fought  with  all  the  fury  that  revenge  and  hatred  could 
inspire.  Sir  Aubrey  laid  about  him  with  a  desperate  valour; 
two  of  his  adversaries  had  already  fallen  beneath  his 
powerful  strokes,  when  Bernhard  spurred  against  him. 
The  athletic  free-lance  showered  his  blows  upon  the  knight, 
and,  though  many  were  parried,  nought  but  his  helmet  and 
hauberk  of  proof  could  have  saved  him.  Sir  Aubrey,  with 
his  mace,  returned  the  blows  of  his  adversary  with  such 
effect,  that  Bernhard's  sword  was  shivered  to  pieces;  but, 
ere  the  knight  could  strike  him  down,  the  free-lance  closed 
and  grasped  him  tightly  by  the  throat.  Sir  Aubrey 
dropped  his  mace,  and  a  desperate  struggle  ensued,  which 
was  maintained  for  a  few  moments,  when  the  knight, 
disengaging  his  right  hand,  quickly  drew  ti*  3ii*eri- 


152  TALES  OF  OTHER  DAYS. 

corde,*  and  struck  his  adversary  on  the  face  with  all  his 
force.  The  blade  glanced  from  the  hard  forehead  of  the  free- 
lance, who  struggled  hard  to  force  the  knight  from  his  horse; 
hut  it  was  a  vain  effort;  Sir  Aubrey  held  him  tightly  with 
his  left  hand,  and  dealt  his  adversary  several  successive 
strokes,  till  Bernhard's  hands  relaxed  their  grasp;  a  con- 
vulsive tremor  shook  his  whole  frame,  and,  with  a  half- 
muttered  curse  upon  his  destroyer,  he  dropped  lifeless  from 
his  horse.  Quickly  wheeling  round,  Sir  Aubrey  beheld  the 
old  knight  stoutly  contending  against  two  of  the  free-com- 
panions, who  had  slain  his  horse.  In  an  instant  one  of  the 
assailants  was  stretched  lifeless  on  the  ground;  he  then  en- 
gaged the  second,  but,  in  the  rush  which  took  place  at  the 
same  moment,  they  were  parted.  Sir  Aubrey  assisted  the 
old  knight  to  remount,  and  then,  heading  his  men,  rushed 
again  upon  the  free-companions.  The  charge  was  decisive; 
unable  to  contend  any  longer  against  such  a  superiority  of 
numbers,  they  broke  ground,  and  fled  precipitately. 

Conrade  Braquemart,  though  generally  the  foremost  in  the 
fray,  was  in  this  instance  the  first  to  set  the  example  of  flight; 
this  ruffian,  seeing  all  was  lost,  had  fallen  back,  unperceived 
by  his  companions,  as  far  as  the  fountain,  whence  Maud  and 
her  terrified>mistress  had  watched  the  furious  conflict  by  the 
light  of  the  few  remaining  torches,  which  scarcely  served  to 
distinguish  friend  from  enemy.  Conrade  spurred  up  to  the 
fountain,  and  dismounting,  spite  of  her  struggling  and 
screaming,  placed  Maud  on  his  horse's  back,  then  quickly 
remounting,  he  rode  furiously  along  the  road.  At  the  same 
moment  his  companions  fled,  but  being  without  ineuinbrance 
they  soon  passed  Conrade, and  left  him  far  behind  them..  He, 
of  course,  was  the  first  overtaken  by  the  knight's  party.  The 
park-keeper  and  falconer  both  perceived  his  flight  with  Maud, 
and,  eager  to  prove  their  devotion  and  readiness  to  serve 
her,  pursued  the  ruffian  with  couched  lances.  But  the  park- 
keeper's  horse  soon  outstripped  that  of  the  falconer:  he  came 
up  with  the  ruffian,  and,  heedless  of  the  consequences, 
levelled  his  lance  at  Conrade.  The  weapon,  piercing  his 
tough  jack,  passed  through  his  body,  and  cast  him  and  Maud 
to  the  ground.  With  a  groan  of  agony  the  soul  of  Conrade 

*  The  "  Misericorde,"  or,  as  it  was  sometimes  called,  the  "  Mercy  of 
God,"  was  a  strong  dagger  worn  by  the  armed  knights  of  that  period, 
and  in  after  ages. 


GHYSBRECHT,    THt    FREE-LANCE.  153 

took  its  flight,  while  Maud  was  raised  from  the  ground 
(unhurt,  save  a  few  bruises)  by  her  lover,  who  bore  her  in 
safety  back  to  the  spot  where  her  mistress  was  already  in  the 
arms  of  Sir  Aubrey. 

Need  the  sequel  be  added? — The  next  day's  sun  smiled  on 
the  union  of  the  knight  and  the  fair  Lady  Beatrice;  and,  ere 
the  week  was  out,  the  buxom  Maud  became  the  wife  of  the 
happy  park-keeper.  Whether  the  less  fortunate  falconer 
stabbed  or  hung  himself  in  despair,  or  sought  a  watery  grave, 
is  not  recorded;  and,  indeed,  were  we  in  possession  of  the 
facts,  we  should  question  the  propriety  of  dwelling  on  a  subject 
which  would  tear  the  bandage  of  the  healing  wounds  of  t'hose 
who  have  experienced  the  tortures  of  hopeless  love. 


THE    THREE   SUITORS. 

With  holy  joy  upon  his  face, 
The  good  old  father  smiled, 
While  fondly  in  his  wither'd  arms 
He  clasp'd  again  his  child. 

THE  days  were,  when  "  Finsburie  Fields,"  instead  of  the 
eternity  of  bricks  and  mortar  which  now  pollutes  their  site: 
instead  of  the  uncatholic  piece  of  Catholicism  which  modern 
taste  has  substituted  for  the  architecture  of  a  York  minster 
and  a  Westminster  Abbey;  instead  of  mathematical  circuses 
and  squares,  with  houses  built  by  logarithms  and  gardens 
arrayed  at  right  angles — presented  to  the  view  the  delightful 
irregularity  of  nature,  where  the  substantial  citizens,  with 
their  buxom  daughters  and  wrinkled  dames,  would  retire, 
after  the  fatigue  of  business,  to  imbibe  the  free  air  and  enjoy 
the  rnanly  sports  which  they  then  afforded.  Amongst  the 
most  frequent  and  attractive  exercises  of  the  period  in  which 
we  now  lay  our  tale,  was  that  practised  by  the  far-famed 
London  Bowmen;  and  we  presume,  that  few  of  our  readers 
nave  not  heard  of  their  exploits,  so  frequently  recorded  in  the 
tales  of  that  time,  and  sung  in  their  rude,  though  quaint 
ballads.  On  those  days  the  tailor  left  his  doublet  unfinished, 
thereby  disappointing  the  young  gallant  who  ordered  it  to 
surprise  his  mistress  with  its  splendour;  the  smith  flung  aside 


154  TALES  OF  OTHER  DAYS. 

his  heavy  hammer,  and,  doffing  his  coarse  apron,  betook  him- 
self to  the  scene  of  action,  and  the  'prentice,  taking  his  bat 
from  its  accustomed  nook,  spite  of  his  master,  trudged  off  to 
witness  the  sports.  Then  was  the  far-famed  Grub-street 
known  by  another  name,  and  inhabited  by  Bowyers  and 
Fletchers,  and  the  strong  walls  which  girted  the  city  .still 
continued  to  be  repaired;  and  ofttimes,  as  we  read,  the  good 
citizens,  ere  they  quitted  this  sublunary  world,  forgot  not  to 
bequeath  large  sums  towards  the  repairing  and  beautifying  of 
its  gates  and  towers.  But,  long  since  have  these  famed  dis- 
plays of.  archery  ceased;  long  since  has  the  cloth-yard  shaft, 
once  so  terrible  to  our  enemies  abroad,  ceased  to  whistle 
over  the  fields  of  Finsbury.  Upwards  of  two  centuries  have 
passed  away,  since  the  twang  of  the  archer's  bow  was  heard 
on  that  spot.  The  harquebuze,  the  caliver,  and  the  haquebut, 
all  names  for  the  various  kinds  of  hand-guns,  took  precedence 
of  the  long  bow,  and  Elizabeth  and  her  successors  tried  in 
vain  to  revive  those  sports,  which,  while  they  served  as  a 
holiday,  at  the  same  time  perfected  the  youth  of  the  city 
in  the  use  of  that  then  tremendous  weapon.  But,  although 
the  long  bow  was  laid  aside  by  some,  when  fire-arms  were  in- 
troduced, still  it  was  by  many  preferred  to  the  harquebuze, 
which  was  for  some  time  after  a  clnmsy  and  unwieldly  engine. 

In  the  beginning  of  the  reign  of  Elizabeth,  on  a  fine 
summer's  evening,  the  youth  of  the  wards  "  Vintrie"  and 
"  Breade  Streete"  were  met  in  Finsbury  FieMs,  to  decide  a 
match  at  shooting  with  the  long  bow.  Such  a  concourse  ot 
people  had  not  assembled  for  some  time  before  this;  the 
greater  part  of  the  inhabitants  of  the  before-named  wards  had 
Hocked  to  witness  this  match;  the  Chepe  was  almost  deserted, 
and  hundreds  of  the  more  wealthy  citizens  poured  out  from 
Moorgate,  with  their  wives  and  daughters. 

Temporary  booths  and  tents  were  erected  on  the  spot,  and 
notices  were  chalked  on  the  outside,  stating  that  wine,  ale, 
and  sack  were  sold  within,  to  tempt  those  who  were  weary 
of  the  sport.  In  these  places  rude  ballads  were  heaid, 
chanted  by  stentorian  voices,  mingled  with  jest  and  oath,  and 
the  rattle  of  the  dice-box.  Seats  were  let  to  those  who  could 
afford  to  pay  for  them,  and  for  which  the  projectors  of  these 
accommodations  took  good  care  to  exact  a  fair  price.  All 
classes  were  mingled  together;  the  gallant,  with  his  embroi- 
dered doublet,  and  gaily  trimmed  tnustachios,  stood  by  the 
gravely-clad  and  spade-bearded  citizen,  who  in  his  turn  was 
pushed  and  jostled  by  the  lately  washed  artificer;  all  seemed 


THE    THREE    SUITORS.  15.5 

to  forget  their  degree  while  looking  on,  though,  sometimes, 
here  and  tliere,  inutterings  were  heard,  and  fierce  words  were 
exchanged,  when  one  would,  by  accident,  tread  on  the  toes  of 
his  neighbour,  or  rumple  the  plait  of  his  starched  ruff.  But 
these  were  not  sufficient  to  break  the  general  harmony,  or 
abstract  the  attention  of  the  spectators  from  the  sports.  If, 
however,  there  were  some  who  paid  them  but  little  attention, 
it  was  the  fair  forms  and  bright  eyes  of  the  city  damsels  who 
were  to  blame;  for,  though  many  of  the  competitors'  shafts 
were  delivered  wide  of  the  mark,  Cupid's  never  failed. 
Amongst  the  spectators,  near  one  of  the  booths  we  have 
spoken  of,  stood  a  citizen  somewhat  advanced  in  years,  clad 
in  a  doublet  of  black  velvet,  with  hose  of  the  same  colour;  on 
his  arm  hung  his  daughter,  his  only  child,  and,  when  we  say 
that  a  crowd  cf  gallant.}  stood  near,  it  will  be  needless  to  add 
that  she  was  beautiful;  few  indeed  could  boast  of  such,, 
charms — the  envy  of  the  city  dames,  and  the  idolatry  of  all 
the  gav  and  youthful  gallants  from  Paul's  to  Aldgate,  She 
stood  shrinking  from  the  gaze  of  those  around  her,  and 
blushing  at  the  amorous  glances  of  both  old  and  young,  while 
her  father  peered  through  his  spectacles,  over  the  heads  of 
the  spectators,  at  the  archers,  who  had  commenced  shooting. 
Amongst  those  who  eyed  the  damsel,  was  a  tall  gallant 
looking  personage,  clad  in  a  rich,  silk  doublet,  with  peach- 
coloured  stockings,  and  larjie  rosettes  in  his  shoes,  with  a  hat 
of  Spanish  felt,  in  which  was  stuck  a  cock's  feather.  An  em- 
broidered belt  sustained  on  ihe  one  side  a  small  dagger,  and 
on  the  o\her  a  silver-hilted  toledo  of  unusual  length.  For  a 
long  time  lie  stood  g<i/ing  on  the  damsel  without  speaking, 
but,  growing  bolder  on  seeing  her  father's  attention  engaged, 
he  advanced  nearer,  and  attempted  to  take  her  hund. 

"  Fair  excellence!"  said  he,  in  an  affected  tone,  "  even  as 
the  sun  outshineth  the  lesser  planets,  so  doth  thy  beauty 
eclipse  that  of  all  other  maidens." 

On  hearing  this,  the  old  man  turned  hastily  round. 

"  Sir  gallant,"  said  he,  "  there  are  others  who  would  be 
more  desirous  of  thy  company;  pr'ythee  get  thee  gone." 

"  Under  your  favour,  old  sir,"  replied  the  gallant,  "  I 
would  have  some  converse  with  this  fair  creature;  beshrew 
me,  'tis  a  pity  she  should  have  so  old  an  arm  to  hang  on." 

"  Sirrah,"  cried  the  old  man,  as  his  pale  and  withered 
cheek  flushed  with  passion.  "  get  thee  gone,  or  by  Heaven 
though  my  arm  be  feeble,  I'll  spoil  thy  doublet." 


15G  TALES  OF  OTHER  DAYF. 

As  he  said  this  he  laid  his  hand  on  his  dagger,  but  the 
gallant  laughed,  and  replied — 

"  By  this  light,  the  warm  blood  has  not  left  thee  yet;  but 
huff  it  not,  man,  I  meant  not  to  offend  thee." 

"  Then  get  thee  gone,  sir." 

"  Nay,  wilt  thou  not  permit  thy  fair  charge  to  take  the 
arm  of  her  devoted  slave?"  As  the  gallant  said  this,  he  took 
the  hand  of  the  damsel,  when  her  father,  unable  to  subdue  his 
passion,  drew  his  dagger. 

"  Begone,"  cried  he,  "  begone  thou  whoreson  sot!  By 
this  good  light  I  would  stab  thee  to  the  earth,  but  I  wish  not 
to  spill  the  blood  of  such  a  Borachio.  I  see  thou  hast  not 
long  parted  with  the  wine  cup." 

"  Marry,  there  is  verity  in  thy  speech,  old  sir;  I  would 
fain  turn  from  the  wine  flask  to  render  homage  to  peerless 
beauty." 

The  old  man  paused  a  moment,  in  evident  embarrassment; 
he  attempted  to  move  through  the  dense  crowd,  but,  finding 
this  impossible,  he  turned  round  and  cried — 

"  Is  there  no  younger  arm  to  rid  me  of  this  galliard  ?" 

"  There  is,"  replied  a  voice  in  the  throng;  and,  at  the 
same  moment,  a  young  man,  attired  in  a  plain  doublet,  with 
sad-coloured  hose,  and  wearing  riding  boots  much  splashed 
with  dirt,  strode  up,  and,  laying  his  hand  on  the  shoulder  of 
the  gallant,  he  whirled  him  round. 

"  Sirrah!"  said  he,  "  get  thee  gone,  or  pluck  out  the  mar- 
vellously long  rapier  that  dangles  at  thy  side." 

The  gallant,  turning  round,  drew  himself  up  to  his  full 
height,  and,  staring  in  the  face  of  the  stranger,  replied — 

"  Sir  Grey  Jerkin,  thou  art  a  marvellously  nncourteous 
knight;  thy  plebeian  paw  hath  rumpled  my  ruff  infernally; 
dost  thou  think  this  silk  was  bought  at  a  tester  the  yard,  that 
thou  layest  such  a  rough  hand  on  it?" 

"  I  was  not  bred  a  mercer,"  replied  the  stranger,  "  nor  care 
I  for  thy  doublet;  either  ask  pardon  of  this  lady  and  her 
father,  or  draw  thy  fox;  I  have  short  time  for  bandying  words 
with  thee." 

The  gallant  smiled.  "  Dost  thou  think,"  said  he,  "  that  rny 
bright  blade  will  ever  cross  thy  miserable  toasting  iron? 
Ecod!  Sir  Grey  Jerkin,  'twas  the  gift  of  the  valiant  Captain 
Juan  Alzedo,  and,  shall  I  tilt  with  such  a  groom  as  thee?" 

The  stranger  made  no  reply  to  this,  but  instantly  drew  his 
rapier  and  struck  the  gallant  sharply  with  the  flat  side  of  it. 


THE    THREE    SUITORS.  157 

The  blow  convinced  the  fop  that  he  had  met  with  one  who 
would  not  l>e  trifled  with,  and,  as  it  was  given  with  some 
force,  the  pain  awakened  liis  latent  valour. 

"  Thou  untrimmed  rustic,"  cried  he,  "  'tis  in  vain  I  would 
desire  to  spare  thee:  thou  shall  be  indulged  with  the  duello; 
make  room,  good  people." 

The  stranger  threw  himself  in  a  posture  of  defence,  and 
waited  for  the  attack  of  his  adversary,  who  pressed  upon  him 
with  great  vigour.  The  maiden  clung  to  the  arm  of  her 
father,  almost  fainting-  with  terror,  while  the  spectators, 
linking  their  hands,  formed  a  ring  for  the  combatants.  Both 
were  excellent  swordsmen,  and  showed  great  skill  at  their 
weapons.  The  gallant,  finding  that  he  could  not  hit  his 
adversary,  desisted,  arid  contented  himself  by  parrying  his 
thrusts,  saying,  as  he  threw  aside  the  stranger's  hinges — 

"  Well  thrust,  most  skilful  rustic!  an  excellent  stoccado,  by 
Jupiter!  verily  thou  art  a  shrewd  hand  at  thy  bilbo;  my 
friend  the  Captain  would  be  delighted  with  thee — so — that 
reversa  was  not  so  good — so — so — ha!" — At  this  moment  his 
sword  flew  from  his  grasp,  over  the  heads  of  the  spectators, 
and  the  stranger,  dropping  the  point  of  his  rapier,  desired  his 
adversary  to  ask  his  life;  but,  apparently  unconscious  of  what 
was  going  on,  the  gallant  cried  out — 

"  There  goes  my  durindana;  hold.  Sir  Rustic!  I  would  not 
lose  it  for  the  worth  of  my  best  doublet;  a  broad  piece  for  the 
knave  who  brings  it  me." 

At  this  instant  a  man  brought  forward  the  rapier,  when  the 
stranger,  taking  it  from  him,  said — 

"  Sirrah,  your  blade  shall  be  shivered  to  pieces,  and  that 
instantly,  if  you  delay  to  ask  this  lady's  pardon  for  the  insult 
you  have  offered  her." 

This  speech  was  enforced  by  the  speaker's  placing  the 
point  of  the  rapier  on  the  ground,  and  putting  his  foot  on  the 
middle  of  it. 

"  Hold,  Sir  Rustic,"  cried  the  gallant,  "  spare  my  good 
blade,  I  pray  thee;  though  it  has  been  false  to  me  this  time, 
yet  we  must  not  part." 

"  Thou  knowest  the  way  to  redeem  it,"  was  the  reply. 

The  gallant  hesitated;  he  bent  his  eyes  on  the  ground, 
while  the  stranger  tried  the  temper  of  the  blade  by  bending 
it  backwards  arid  forwards;  at  length,  after  a  struggle  with 
his  feelings,  the  fear  that  he  should  lose  his  rapier  predomi- 
nated, and,  striding  up  to  the  old  citizen  and  his  daughter,  he 
muttered  an  apology,  and  the  stranger,  delivering  him  his 


158  TALES  OF  OTHER  DAYS. 

blade,  he  slunk  off  amidst  the  jeers  and  taunts  of  the  spec- 
tators 

"  There  goes  my  Lord  Poppinjay!"  cried  a  fellow  in  a 
thrum  cap  and  leathern  jerkin. 

"  Ay,  ay,"  said  his  companion,  "  his  duridinda  and  he 
agree  not  to-day;  he'll  fight  better  when  he  has  taken  another 
pottle  o'  sack." 

In  the  meanwhile  the  object  of  their  jokes  had  got  out  of 
the  crowd,  and  the  stranger,  after  bowing  to  the  citizen  and 
his  daughter,  was  about  to  depart,  when  the  former  spoke. 

"  I  thank  thce,  young  friend,"  said  he,  "  and  would  fain 
show  thee  that  I  am  not  ungrateful;  pr'ythee  favour  us  with 
thy  company  to  the  Old  Jewry;  Zachary  Wyvill  loves  a 
brave  youth." 

The  stranger  hesitated,  and  the  old  man  continued,  "Come, 
we  will  go  at  once;  by  my  faith,  you  shall  not  choose." 

The  young  man  hesitated  no  longer;  so,  proffering  his 
arm  to  the  maiden,  he  led  her  out  of  the  crowd,  and,  passing 
through  Moorgate,  proceeded  towards  the  Old  Jewry,  where 
Master  Wyvill  dwelt.  On  their  way  thither,  Madaline  was 
delighted  with  the  frank  and  easy  manner  of  the  stranger. 
who  addressed  her  father  and  herself  by  turns,  till  they  arrived 
at  Master  Zachary's  house.  The  old  merchant  learnt  from 
the  stranger  that  his  name  was  Herbert  Tyndale,  and  that  he 
nad  put  up  at  the  Windmill  Inn,  almost  opposite  to  his  house. 
Master  Wyvill  pressed  him  to  stay  and  sup  with  him;  and 
this  was  no  difficult  matter,  for  when  it  grew  late  Herbert 
unwillingly  took  his  leave,  not,  however,  without  an  invitation 
for  the  next  day.  He  tore  himself  away  from  the  gentle 
Madaline,  and  betook  himself  to  his  lodgings  at  the  Windmill. 
Though  much  fatigued  with  travelling  (for  he  had  arrived  in 
London  that  day)  Herbert  slept  but  little,  and  when  he  did 
slumber,  his  rest  was  broken  by  bright  and  lovely  visions,  in 
which  Madaline  held  the  chief  feature. 

Early  on  the  following  morning  Herbert  failed  not  to 
appear  at  Master  Zachary's,  whom  he  found  busily  engaged 
in  his  couuting-house.  An  invitation  to  dinner  was  accepted 
by  Herbert,  because  it  gave  him  another  opportunity  of 
beholding  the  lovely  Madaline,  with  whom,  we  hope  not  one 
of  our  reader's  will  require  to  be  told,  he  had  fallen  desperately 
in  love.  Madaline  herself  was  in  love  too,  and  her  only  fear 
was,  lest  the  handsome  Herbert  should  be  already  plighted 
to  some  other  damsel;  for  she  never  once  supposed  that  her 
father  would  withhold  his  consent.  Fathers  and  mothers. 


THE    THREE    SUITORS.  159 

put  on  the  spectacles  of  discrimination,  arid  be  careful  how  ye 
invite  young  gallants  to  your  houses,  especially  if  Heaven 
has  blessed  ye  with  handsome  daughters.  Both  our  young 
folks  were  in  love,  though  their  acquaintance  had  been  so 
newly  formed;  but  Cupid  is  no  sluggard;  and,  after  dinner, 
during  the  temporary  absence  of  Master  Wyviil,  Herbert, 
being  left  alone  with  the  beautiful  Madaline,  declared  his 
passion,  with  all  the  customary  vows  and  protestations.  She 
listened  to  him  with  delight,  not,  however,  without  a  multi- 
tude of  blushes  and  hesitations,  which  it  is  not  our  business 
to  record.  Nothing  now  remained  but  to  ask  the  consent  of 
Master  Wyviil;  and,  on  a  fitting  opportunity  presenting  itself, 
when  Madeline  had  left  the  room,  Herbert  at  once  demanded 
the  hand  of  his  daughter.. 

"  Well,  Master  Tyndale,"  said  the  old  merchant;  "  but  I 
would  fain  know  if  ihou  hast  the  means  to  keep  a  wife,  and 
from  whence  thou  comest?" 

Herbert  was  somewhat  embarrassed  on  hearing  these 
questions,  for  he  had  never  once  thought  on  his  situation, 
since  his  introduction  to  the  lovely  Madaline. 

Master  Wyviil  perceived  his  confusion,  and  demanded, 
somewhat  hastily,  whether  he  had  a  fortune  sufficient  to  aspire 
to  the  hand  of  the  daughter  of  one  of  the  richest  merchants 
in  London  I* 

"  Sir,"  replied  Tyndale,  after  some  hesitation,  "  I  will  e'en 
tell  ye  the  truih.  I  arn  the  only  son  of  a  country  gentleman, 
who  would  have  me  wedded  to  age  and  ugliness,  because, 
forsooth,  there  is  gold  iu  the  bargain.  I  refused  to  obey  him, 
and  quitted  his  roof  with  a  determination  to  seek  my  fortune 
in  another  land,  when  chance  brought  me  to  your  assistance 
yesterdav.  However,  I  have  some  few  thousand  pounds, 
which  I  will  lay  at  your  daughter's  feet" 

Here  he  was  interrupted  by  Master  Wyviil,  whose  anger 
burst  forth  like  a  volcano.  "  Sirrah !"  cried  he,  "  is  it  thus 
thon  wouldst  repay  my  hospitality?  Hence  with  thee — she 
shall  not  be  thine!  What!  hast  thou,  ingrate,  left  thy 
parents,  and  come  abroad  to  teach  others  disobedience?  Get 
thee  gone !" 

"  But,  sir" 

"  But  me  no  buts,  sirrah!"  cried  the  old  man;  "  begone 
this  instant,  or  I'll  bring  those  who  shall  thrust  thee  out!" 

Herbert's  blood  boiled  on  hearing  this  language,  but  the 
thought  of  Madaline  checked  his  indignation.  He  arose, 
and,  taking  his  hat  and  cloak,  replied:  "  This  language  may 


160  TALKS  OF  OTHER  DAYS. 

be  used  by  you,  sir;  hut,  had  it  come  from  one  of  younger 
years,  it  should  have  been  answered  with  cold  iron !"  He 
then  passed  out,  and  repaired  to  the  Windmill,  overwhelmed 
with  surprise  and  chagrin. 

Master  Wyvill,  as  soon  as  Herbert  had  left  the  house, 
summoned  his  daughter,  and  sharply  rebuked  her  for  encou- 
raging the  addresses  of  one  with  whom  she  had  so  lately 
become  acquainted.  Madaline  heard  her  father's  determi- 
nation with  much  sorrow,  which  was  increased  when  he  told 
her  that  he  had  selected  a  husband  for  her.  As  he  spoke, 
a  visitor  was  announced,  and,  shortly  after,  a  gallant 
entered  the  room,  whom  Master  Wyvill  introduced  to  his 
daughter. 

"  This  gentleman,"  said  he, "  is  the  son  of  my  friend,  Master 
Scrips;  receive  him  as  your  future  husband." 

Her  father  left  the  room,  and  Madaline  ventured  a  look  at 
the  person  who  had  been  introduced  to  her.  He  was  a 
young  man  of  about  the  middle  height,  but  clumsily  made — 
his  features  were  coarse  beyond  expression,  and  his  white 
starched  ruff  formed  a  singular  contrast  to  his  black  hair, 
which  was  cut  close,  and  turned  up  in  front  in  the  most 
approved  manner;  his  large  lopped  ears  stuck  out  from  the 
sides  of  his  head,  as  if  they  were  handles  by  which  it  was  ad- 
justed; his  hose  were  of  the  most  fashionable  colour;  his 
enormous  slops  glittered  with  embroidery,  and  his  doublet 
shone  with  gold  points:  a  long  sword  and  dagger  completed 
the  equipment  of  this  extraordinary  person.  Madalim; 
viewed  him  for  some  moments  in  silent  surprise;  had  she 
been  in  a  more  merry  mood,  she  would  have  laughed  out- 
right; but  her  father's  harsh  rebuke  was  not  forgotten. 
Master  Christopher  Scrips  interpreted  her  confusion  into 
admiration  of  his  dress  and  person;  he  essayed  to  make  use 
of  some  of  the  phrases  which  he  had  heard  among  the  gallants 
of  his  acquaintance;  but  his  memory  failed  him,  and  he 
played  with  the  band  of  his  hat,  and  cast  his  eyes  on  the 
floor — when  Madaline  spoke: — 

"  Fair  sir,"  said  she,  "  may  I  ask  the  name  of  the  worthy 
gentleman  whom  my  father  intends  for  my  husband  ?" 

"  Ay,  marry  thou  mayest,  fair  lady,"  replied  the  gallant: 
"  Christopher  Scrips  is  the  name  of  your  devoted  slave;  your 
city  gallants  call  me  Kit,  but  they  of  the  Devil,  in  Fleet- 
street,  are  more  courteous.  Beshrew  me,  if  these  folks  of 
the  Chepe  know  a  true  toledo  from  a  Sheffield  back-sword. 
By  mine  honesty,  fair  lady,  'tis  a'oitv  so  beauteous  a  damsel 


THE    THRFE    SUITORS.  161 

should  dwell  with  such  doddy  pates,  who  wear  doublets  of 
such  a  sad  colour,  that  it  makes  one  gloomy  to  behold  them; 
and  their  rapiers,  too,  are  most  barbarous  tools.  My  worthx- 
friend,  Adrian  Partington,  hath  said  much  of  these  said 
rapiers,  which  are  so  offensive  to  the  sight  of  every  true 
gentleman." 

"  Doubtless  'tis  a  noble  one  you  yourself  wear,  fair  sir," 
said  Madaline,  wishing  to  say  something  to  break  off  this  long 
dissertation. 

"  Marry,  you  shall  be  witness  of  it,"  replied  he,  drawing 
his  rapier,  "  'tis  one  of  most  excellent  temper;  it  cost  me  five 
gold  nobles,  without  the  hilt,  which  I  bought  of  Master 
Partington,  who  had  it  of  a  valiant  friend  of  his." 

As  he  concluded  this  speech,  Master  Scrips  placed  his 
rapier  in  Madaline's  hand.  The  hilt  was  of  silver,  richly 
chased  with  the  representation  of  Hercules  destroying  the 
hydra. 

"  Thou  seest,  fair  lady,"  continued  he,  "  there  are  some 
cleverly  conceited  emblems  graven  on  the  hilt — Hercules 
and  the  dragon.  Doubtless  thou  hast  read  of  this  same 
Hercules,  and  how  he  threw  aside  his  weapons  at  the 
command  of  his  lady-love,  to  bask  in  the  sunshine  of  her 
smiles.  I  marvel,  though,  whether  Hercules  w.ore  so  trusty 
a  blade." 

"  Truly,  sir,  it  is  a  noble  weapon,"  said  Madaline,  looking 
at  the  rapier. 

"  Noble,  dost  thou  say,  fair  damsel  ?"  cried  Master  Chris- 
topher; "  'tis  a  trusty  blade,  and  fit  to  ride  on  a  gentleman's 
thigh;  by  rru'ne  honour,  'twould  ha'  gladdened  thee  to  have 
seen  how  I  served  mine  host  o'  the  Devil,  who  was  sore 
plagued  by  several  scape-graces:  they  fled  at  the  very  sight 
of  my  trusty  toledo." 

Madaline  smiled,  and  returned  the  weapon. 

"  Fair  sir,"  said  she,  "  I  would  fain  act  honestly  towards 
thee;  know,  then,  that  I  cannot  give  my  hand  to  a  noisy 
reveller,  or  to  one  who  vapours  so  highly  as  thou  dost. 
There  are  other  maidens  who  would  be  more  proud  of  your 
acquaintance;  pr'ythee  seek  them,  Sir  Gallant — Farewell." 

The  maiden,  as  she  said  this,  left  the  room;  and  Master 
Scrips,  giving  his  hat  a  twirl,  adjusted  his  ruff,  then  looked 
down  at  the  large  rosettes  in  his  shoes,  then  at  the  ceiling, 
and  then  on  the  spot  where  Madaline  had  lately  stood,  as  if 
IK-  (i:iiibte<l  hi«  souses. 

•'•    i  i;ie  l!<>;,\fii!"  i-ricd  he,  "she  is  a  jilt  and  a  malapert 


1G2  TALES  OF  OTHER  DAYS. 

quean,  yet  she  hath  a  marvellous  comely  face.  Heigho! 
Mistress  Wyvill,  I  wish  thee  possessed  of  more  courtesy." 
He  turned,  and,  putting  on  his  hat,  stalked  down  stairs,  and 
proceeded  to  the  Windmill,  intending  to  drown  the  recollec- 
tion of  his  interview  in  a  pottle  of  sack.  He  entered  the 
inn,  where  he  found  the  gallant  whom  Herbert  Tyndall  had 
disarmed  in  Moorfields  the  preceding  day. 

"  The  good  time  o'  the  evening  to  you,  Master  Partington," 
said  he;  "  hast  stomach  for  a  pottle  of  sack?" 

"  Ay,  marry,  Master  Scrips — but  how  hast  fared?  Was 
the  damsel  visible,  or  coy,  or ?" 

"  She  is  a  jilt,  friend  Partington;  thou  mayest  ha'  her  for 
me.  'Fore  George,  I'll  not  go  near  her  again!" 

"  Ha!  say  ye  so?  Then  she  shall  be  mine.  Harkee, 
friend  Scrips;  her  waiting-maid  has  told  me,  that  she  and  her 
father  will  go  on  a  visit  to  Master  Frostling,  the  vintner's,  on 
the  Bankside,  to-day.  Now,  if  we  could  engage  a  trusty 
waterman,  and  carry  her  off' to-night?" 

"  Ah!  but  there  is  danger  in  that;  'tis  felouy — why" 

"Pish!  never  fear  it,"  continued  Partington;  "I  warrant 
she  will  not  mislike  the  plan." 

Master  Scrips,  after  some  hesitation,  consented  to  this 
villanous  scheme,  and  it  was  agreed  that  they  should  put  it 
into  execution  that  very  evening;  but,  as  their  evil  stars 
willed  it,  Herbert  Tyndale,  who  sat  in  the  next  room,  having 
caught  a  few  of  the  first  words  of  the  dialogue,  rose  softly, 
and,  coming  on  tiptoe  to  a  crevice,  saw  plainly  the  two  wor- 
thies, who  were  concerting  their  diabolical  plan. 

His  first  impulse  was  to  rush  out  upon  them;  but  a 
moment's  reflection  told  him  that  it  would  l>e  better  to  inter- 
cept them  in  their  flight  with  Madaline,  if  they  should  suc- 
ceed in  carrying  her  off".  He  therefore  waited  until  he 
heard  the  whole  of  their  plan,  and  then  summoned  his  man 
Peter,  w  ho  had  accompanied  him  to  London.  After  some 
deliberation,  it  was  agreed  that  they  should  leave  the  Wind- 
mill before  the  city  gates  were  shut,  and  repair  to  the 
Bankside,  where  they  might  lay  in  wait  for  the  gallants,  and 
rescue  Madaline. 

The  evening  came,  and  found  Tyndale  and  his  man  at 
their  post.  Master  Frostling's  house  was  surrounded  by  a 
high  hedge,  and  a  dry  ditch,  which  was  deep  enough  to  con- 
ceal them  from  view.  They  had  not  been  concealed  long, 
before  they  heard  the  sound  of  footsteps  in  the  garden,  and 
Herbert,  on  looking  through  the  hedge,  perceived  Madaline, 


THE    THREE    SUITORS.  1G3 

who  was  walking  alone.  He  kept  still,  in  his  hiding  place, 
well  knowing  that  any  attempt  so  address  her  then  might 
ruin  his  hopes;  and  supposing  that,  if  Partington  and  Scrips 
were  near,  they  would  seize  upon  this  favourable  opportunity. 
He  was  not  deceived,  for  he  presently  heard  the  plash  of 
oars,  and  the  next  moment  a  boat  approached  the  house. 
Two  figures,  enveloped  in  large  cloaks,  leaped  ashore,  while 
a  third  remained  in  the  boat.  They  advanced  cautiously 
towards  the  house,  and  then  whispered  to  each  other.  The 
tallest,  whom  Herbert  recognized  as  Partington,  perceiving 
Madaline,  leaped  over  the  small  gate  into  the  garden,  and, 
ere  she  was  aware  of  his  approach,  threw  his  large  cloak 
over  her,  and  raised  her  in  his  arms.  Scrips  assisted  his 
companion  with  his  burthen,  over  the  gate,  when  Madaline 
contrived  to  tear  the  cloak  from  her  head,  and  shrieked 
loudly. 

"  Villains !"  cried  Tyndale,  starting  from  his  hiding  place, 
"  ye  are  discovered;  unhand  that  lady,  or  ye  are  but  dead 
men !"  Partington's  danger  rendered  him  desperate,  and, 
placing1  Madaline  on  her  feet,  he  drew  his  rapier,  and 
attacked  Herbert  with  great  fury;  but,  after  a  few  passes  he 
fell,  from  a  well-directed  thrust.  Without  waiting  a  moment, 
Tyndale  turned  to  engage  Master  Scrips,  who,  however,  had 
made  up  his  mind  to  decline  the  combat,  and  took  to  his 
heels,  pursued  by  Peter.  Master  Christopher's  speed  was 
much  greater  than  his  valour,  and  he  arrived  first  at  the 
water's  edge,  but  unfortunately  missed  the  boat,  into  which 
he  had  intended  to  jump,  and  fell  souse  into  the  river.  His 
large  cloak,  which  he  had  vainly  endeavoured  to  thiow  off, 
saved  him  from  drowning,  and  he  was  dragged  ashore  by 
Peter,  half  dead  with  fright.  Master  Wyvill,  together  with 
his  gossip  Frostling  and  family,  alarmed  by  the  noise,  hastened 
out,  when  they  beheld  a  scene  which  filled  them  with 
astonishment.  Partington  was  lying  on  the  ground  bleeding 
profusely,  Madaline  was  sustained  in  the  arms  of  Tyndale, 
almost  senseless,  and  Scrips,  with  rueful  countenance,  begged 
hard  to  be  released  from  the  rough  gripe  of  Peter,  while  his 
rich  doublet  and  hose  were  dripping  with  water.  His  morti- 
fication was  increased  when  Master  Wyvill,  holding  a  lamp 
in  his  hand,  surveyed  him  from  head  to  foot.  After  a  severe 
reprimand  he  was  suffered  to  depart;  but  the  dangerous 
situation  of  Partington  rendered  the  assistance  of  a  surgeon 
necessary,  and  he  was  removed  in  a  litter. 

It  will  be  scarcely  necessary  to  add,  that  Master  Wyvill's 


104  TALES  OF  OTHER  DAYS. 

anger  was  not  only  appeased,  but  that,  in  a  week  after,  nis 
lovely  daughter  was  united  to  Tyndale.  To  increase  the 
happiness  of  the  lovers,  Herbert  on  the  following  week 
received  his  father's  forgiveness.  Partington  recovered,  but 
not  until  some  time  after,  and  slunk  into  merited  obscurity; 
while  Master  Christopher  Scrips  was  exposed  to  the  jokes  of 
ais  fellow-citizens  for  many  years  afterwards. 


THE    FIFTH    OF   NOVEMBER. 

A    LEGEND    OF    PALACE-YARD. 

"  Lord,  what  a  wind,  what  a  fire,  what  a  motion  and  commotion  of 
earth  and  air  would  there  have  been!  I  tremble  even  to  think  of  it. 
Miserable  desolation !" 

Sir  E.  Coke,  the  King's  Attorney,  upon  the  trial  of 
Guy  Faukes. 

NUMEROUS  have  been  the  "  Histories"  and  "  Memoirs"  of 
the  reigns  of  Elizabeth  and  James  the  First;  and,  although 
many  of  them  differ  in  trivial  and  unimportant  points,  yet 
they  all  agree  in  representing  the  one  monarch  as  noble  and 
merciful,  saving  that  she  was  somewhat  fiery  and  choleric, 
and  the  other,  at  least  inoffensive;  yet,  none  have  described 
the  restless  and  agitated  state  of  this  kingdom  during  their 
'swaj'.  In  our  infancy,  the  sovereign  best  remembered  was 
"  Good  Queen  Bess;"  and,  until  lately,  we  have  been  taught 
to  believe  that  Elizabeth  did  more  to  uphold  the  splendour 
of  her  empire  than  any  preceding  monarch.  Her  reign  lias 
been  called  the  "  golden  age,"  and  she  has  upon  all  occa- 
sions been  contrasted  with  her  sister;  but  there  are  few  now 
who  do  not  consider  that  she  was  a  remorseless  fury,  who 
sacrificed  everything  to  her  insatiable  ambition,  which  was 
only  exceeded  by  her  conceit  and  disgusting  personal  vanity. 
Her  people  had  become  habituated  to  acts  of  tyranny  and 
bloodshed  during  the  sway  of  her  sanguinary  and  brutal 
father,  and  they  suffered  with  more  patience  the  violence 
and  oppression  of  the  succeeding  monarchs — not  because 
they  were  milder,  but  simply  because  they  were  not  quite  so 
terrible;  but,  when  Elizabeth  assumed  the  reigns  of  govern- 
ment, the  rack,  the  halter,  the  gibbet,  and  the  knife,  were 


THE    FIFTH    OF    NOVEMBER.  165 

agair  put  in  requisition.  Heretofore,  Catholic  and  Pro- 
testant alternately  gained  the  ascendancy,  and  by  turns 
remorselessly  butchered  each  other;  but  when  Elizabeth 
grasped  the  sceptre,  the  power  of  the  former  succumbed  to 
the  latter,  and  her  agents  hunted  down  the  innocent  aud 
peaceable  Catholic,  whose  only  crime  was  his  adherence  to 
the  religion  of  his  fathers.  The  notorious  corruption  of  the 
church  of  Rome  certainly  called  aloud  for  a  reformation;  but 
why  were  the  guiltless  punished? — why  was  the  phial  of 
wrath  emptied  upon  the  heads  of  any  but  those  who,  under 
the  guise  of  sanctity,  and  zeal  for  religion,  struggled  for 
temporal  power? 

These  persecutions  were  carried  on,  with  scarcely  any 
intermission,  until  the  death  of  Elizabeth,  which  happened  in 
the  year  1603.  Perverse  and  obdurate  in  her  dying  mo- 
ments, she  quitted  the  world  without  naming  her  successor, 
thereby  leaving  the  nation  in  a  state  of  great  uncertainty 
and  anxiety,  as  to  who  should  be  chosen  to  fill  that  throne 
from  which  she  had,  for  more  than  forty  years,  issued  her 
cruel  mandates.  Many  plots  were  contrived  to  destroy  her, 
and  several  daring  individuals  singly  attempted  her  life;  but 
all  the  parties  suffered  for  their  temerity:  even  suspected 
persons  were  seized  and  condemned.  At  length,  a  few 
desperate  men  conspired  to  overthrow  her  and  her  govern- 
ment; but,  in  the  midst  of  their  deliberations,  the  angel  of 
death  summoned  their  intended  victim  before  the  tribunal  of 
Him,  whose  name  and  whose  law  she  had  so  often  wantonly 
profaned  and  violated.  This  event  led  the  discontented  to 
hope  that  a  favourable  change  would  take  place,  as  all  eyes 
^•ere  turned  towards  James  the  Sixth  of  Scotland,  whose 
pusillanimous  disposition  sanctioned  the  belief  that  the 
bloody  days  of  persecution  were  passed  away.  His  acces- 
sion was  nailed  with  joy  by  the  Catholics,  both  on  account 
of  his  being  a  descendant  of  Mary,  who  was  a  rigid  Papist, 
and  also  from  his  having  been  inclined  to  that  religion  in  his 
youth;  but,  great  was  their  surprise  and  rase  to  find  him 
strictly  executing  those  merciless  laws  which  his  predecessors 
had  enacted  against  them.  The  peaceable  and  unambitious 
Catholic  dreaded  a  renewal  of  Elizabeth's  barbarities,  while 
the  more  violent  resolved  to  destroy  the  newly  crowned 
king,  or  perish  in  the  attempt  James,  on  his  arrival  in 
England,  was  attended  by  a  long  train  of  his  needy  country- 
men, all  of  them  seeking  for  places  and  preferment,  which 
they  obtained,  to  the  exclusion  of  the  English,  who  thus  saw 


100  TALES  OV  OTHER  DAYS. 

those  whom  they  had  been  taught  to  believe — and  whom, 
indeed,  they  had  always  found  to  be — their  bitterest  enemies, 
filling  every  post  of  emolument,  and  suing  for  places  on 
behalf  of  their  countrymen,  who  were  daily  inundating-  Eng- 
land, that  country  of  which  they  had  been  the  scourge  for  so 
many  hundred  years. 

The  individual  who  first  determined  to  destroy  the  king 
and  his  minions,  was  Robert  Catesbye,  a  gentleman  of 
ancient  family  in  Northamptonshire,  and  a  descendant  of 
that  Catesbye  who  so  faithfully  served  his  master,  stern  and 
cruel  as  he  was,  when  all  deserted  him  at  Bosworth  field. 
He  it  was  who  framed  a  plot  which  humanity  shudders  at, 
and  which,  although  it  cannot  be  justified,  must  allow  of 
some  degree  of  palliation,  when  we  reflect  upon  the  abject 
state  to  which  many  families  of  high  birth  were  reduced. 
The  plot  was  not  contrived  by  a  few  desperate  wretches  in 
the  lower  walks  of  life,  but  by  men  of  family  and  consequence, 
who  had  considerable  property  at  stake;  and  this  fact  goes 
to  prove  the  miserable  and  degraded  state  to  which  the 
nation  had  been  brought  by  James  and  his  horde  of  needy 
countrymen.  Catesbye  was  the  originator  of  that  con- 
spiracy, in  the  particulars  of  which  no  two  historians  agree; 
which  has  been  considered  a  mere  fable  by  some,  and  which, 
for  more  than  two  hundred  years,  has  been  known  bv  the 
name  of  the  GUNPOWDER  PLOT 


"  Can  you  show  me  the  lodging  of  the  English  knight, 
Sir  William  Stanley?"  inquired  a  stranger,  in  imperfect 
Dutch,  of  a  boor  whom  he  met  in  one  of  the  streets  in 
Ostend. 

"  Yaw,  Mynheer,"  replied  the  fellow,  takinir  his  pipe 
from  his  mouth,  "  'tis  yon  house,  hard  by  de  sign  of  de  Goot 
Vrow." 

"  Thank  ye,  good  fellow,"  said  the  Englishman,  interrupt- 
ing him,  "  here  is  a  groat  for  your  information,  which  is  even 
better  than  your  English;"  and  he  passed  on  to  the  house 
pointed  out  to  him  by  the  boor,  who  acknowledged  the  gift 
with  an  awkward  bow." 

"  I  sail  drinck  your  honour's  goot  belt,"  said  the  Hol- 
lander, resuming  his  pipe,  and  rolling  towards  a  bier-kroeg. 

In  the  meantime,  the  stranger  had  arrived  at  the  house  of 
which  he  was  in  quest,  and,  having  knocked  at  the  door,  w<is 
instantly  admitted,  and  shown  into  a  small  dark  room, 
in  which  a  man  of  sombre  countenance  was  sitting,  who. 


THE     FIFTH     OF     NOVEMREK.  1G7 

rising  from  his  seat,  greeted  him  with  a  warm  grasj>  of  the 
hand. 

"Welcome,  thrice  welcome  to  Ostend,  Master  Wentour." 
said  he;  "  for,  by  your  visit  I  see  that  the  hour  of  vengeance 
in  at  hand.  Say,  how  is  my  honoured  friend  arid  intimate, 
Master  Catesbye  V" 

"  Well,  excellent  well,  Sir  William,"  replied  Wentour, 
"  and  living  in  the  hope  that  our  enemies  will,  ere  long,  feel 
the  vengeance  we  have  in  store  for  them.  We  have  a  few 
more  fearless  hearts  joined  with  us — Master  Catesbye  has 
taken  a  commodious  dwelling  at  Lambeth,  and  all  is  ready — 
we  must  lay  in  our  munition  without  more  delay." 

"  'Tis  already  prepared,"  replied  the  knight;  "  thirty 
barrels  of  powder  are  on  board  the  galliot  alongside  the  quay, 
and  waiting  for  the  first  fair  wind." 

"  Truly,  you  are  a  zealous  worker  in  the  good  cause.  Sir 
William;  with  such  souls  there  can  be  no  fear  of  a  mis- 
carriage: but  where  is  the  gentleman  of  whom  our  good 
friend  Catesbye  speaks  so  highly?" 

"  He  has  not  overrated  him-,"  said  the  knight,  whistling 
aloud.  An  attendant  entered.  "  Bid  Master  Johnson  attend 
us  here,  Jenkin." 

The  servant  disappeared,  and,  shortly  after,  a  man  of 
commanding  stature  entered  the  room.  His  aspect  partook 
of  that  expression  peculiar  to  the  better  class  of  the  people 
of  Yorkshire;  his  forehead  was  high  and  smooth;  his  nose 
somewhat  aquiline  and  well-shaped;  his  eyes  were  grey, 
sharp,  and  piercing,  and  his  whole  countenance  would  have 
been  prepossessing,  but  for  the  close  and  determined  expres- 
sion of  the  mouth  and  chin.  A  spade  beard  of  a  light  brown 
colour  descended  over  his  doublet  of  buff  leather,  and  his 
mustachios  were  well  trimmed  and  turned  upwards  at  the 
ends,  after  the  Spanish  fashion.  A  profusion  of  brown  hair 
fell  in  curls  over  his  shoulders  and  down  his  back,  and  set  oH 
a  countenance  at  once  noble  and  commanding.  The  appear- 
ance of  this  man  made  a  strong  impression  upon  Weutour 
who  regarded  him  with  fixed  attention. 

"  This  is  the  gentleman,"  said  Sir  William,  "  who  is  willing 
to  render  all  the  assistance  in  his  power  to  your  great  under- 
taking; trust  me,  I  have  ever  found  Master  Faukes  a  man  of 
courage  and  ready  counsel." 

Wentour  extended  his  hand,  which  Faukes  seized  in  his 
own,  and  with  an  oath  exclaimed,  in  a  northern  accent,  which 
nis  long  residence  abroad  had  not  destroyed — 


168  TALES  OF  OTHER  DAYS. 

"  By  my  beard,  it  glads  my  heart  to  find  there  are  a  few 
bold  and  resolute  souls  still  left  to  avenge  the  wrongs  of  Old 
England! — Madre  deF 

"Hold,  Faukes!"  cried  Stanley,  interrupting  him;  "  yon 
must  forget  that  you  have  carried  a  spontoon  here;  none  of 
your  Spanish  oaths — they  will  betray  ye  if  ye  use  them  in 
England." 

"  You  are  right,  Sir  William;  I  will  take  care  to  keep  my 
acquaintance  with  the  Spaniard  a  secret;  my  new  name  will 
protect  me  from  recognition." 

"  I  trust  so,"  said  the  knight;  "  and  now  let  us  have  a  flask 
of  burgundy,  and  drink  success  to  our  undertaking.  What, 
ho!  glasses  and  a  flask  of  the  best!" 

The  wine  having  been  brought,  they  sat  down  to  discuss 
it,  and  arrange  their  plans.  The  midnight  chimes  had 
sounded  ere  they  separated:  Wentour  retired  to  rest,  rejoic- 
ing in  this  accession  to  their  band,  and  deeply  impressed  with 
the  firm  and  determined  character  of  Faukes. 

Early  in  the  morning  of  the  third  day  of  Wentour's  arrival, 
a  message  from  the  captain  of  the  galliot  informed  them  that 
the  wind  was  fair  for  England.  Wentour  and  Faukes  were 
soon  on  board,  and,  bidding  farewell  to  Sir  William  Stanley, 
they  set  sail  with  their  terrible  cargo. 

In  the  meantime,  Catesbye  had  taken  a  house*  on  the 
hanks  of  the  Thames  at  Lambeth,  which  he  had  intrusted  to 
the  care  of  one  Robert  Keys,  whom  he  had  received  into  the 
association.  The  lower  rooms  had  been  cleared  out,  and 
everything  prepared  for  the  reception  of  the  powder,  the 
arrival  of  which  was  hourly  expected.  It  was  a  calm  and 
beautiful  evening,  on  which  Catesbye,  Keys,  Percy,  Rooke- 
woode,  and  several  others,  sat  in  an  apartment  of  this  house, 
overlooking  the  river,  upon  which  the  setting  sun  threw  its 
last  rays.  Their  conversation  was  carried  on  in  a  low  tone, 
but  it  was  not  the  less  stern  and  terrible. 

"  Ye  would  not  destroy  all,"  queried  Percy,  fixing  his 
eye  upon  the  rigid  features  of  Catesbye.  "  There  are 
some  who  would  rejoice  to  hear  of  our  plot;  must  they 
perish  too?" 

"  Ay,  Tom,  all;  would  ye,  to  save  some  half-dozen  shamb- 
ling fools,  run  the  risk  of  betraying  us?  If  one  spark  of  pity 
linger  in  your  breast,  think  of  the  wrongs  that  thou  thyself 
hast  suffered;  count  over  the  fines  thou  hast  paid  to  these 

*  This  house  has  been  for  some  time  levelled  to  the  ground. 


THE    FIFTH    OF    NOVEMBER.  169 

villains;  reckon  up  the  broad  acres  thou  hast  lost  by  t'nem, 
and" 

"By  Heaven,  you  madden  me!"  cried  Percy;  "hold,  I 
pray  thee,  good  Catesbye;  'twere  tolly  to  think  of  the  safety 
of  a  few,  when  a  host  of  enemies  are  within  our  toils." 

"  Ay,"  said  Keys,  with  a  bitter  smile,  "  and  unconscious  of 
it  too.  The  cellar  is  cleared,  and  we  have  but  to  bestow  the 
powder." 

At  this  moment  the  arrival  of  two  persons  in  a  boat  under 
the  window  interrupted  the  conversation,  and  Catesbye, 
throwing  open  the  casement,  discovered  that  it  was  Faukes 
and  Wentour.  Mutual  greetings  followed,  and  Wentour 
informed  his  companions  that  the  galliot,  with  the  powder  on 
board,  had  anchored  in  the  Thames. 

"  We  must  get  part  of  it  here  without  delay,"  said  Cates- 
bye; "  we  can  then  remove  it  to  my  house  in  Palace  Yard  at 
our  leis'ure.  You  will  assist  us,  Wentour?" 

"  Ay,  when  I  return,"  replied  Wentour,  "  but  I  must  first 
take  a  journey  to  Huddington,  and  prepare  my  daughter  for 
the  event  that  is  to  follow,  by  placing  her  in  the  house  of 
some  friend." 

Catesbye  bent  a  stern  and  scrutinizing  glance  on  his  asso- 
ciate, which  Wentour  observed. 

"  Nay,"  said  he,  "  look  not  so  searchingly;  I  would  rather 
feel  thy  dagger  in  my  heart,  than  bear  a  look  of  mistrust." 

"Forgive  me,  Wentour,"  said  Catesbye;  "I  would  not 
doubt  thy  zeal  and  fidelity  for  worlds;  no,  my  good  friend,  I 
know  thee  too  well  to  harbour  a  suspicion  of  so  foul  a  thing. 
You  will  meet  us  on  your  return,  at  our  rendezvous?" 

"  Ay,"  replied  Wentonr,  "  I  shall  not  tarry  at  Huddington; 
in  a  fortnight  ye  shall  see  me  again;  farewell  fora  short  time. 
Gentlemen,  brothers,  farewell." 

He  wrung  the  hand  of  each  by  turns,  quitted  the  house, 
hurried  to  the  water  side,  and,  taking  a  boat,  ordered  the 
waterman  to  row  towards  the  city. 

The  next  morning,  by  sun-rise,  Wentour  was  on  his  way 
to  Huddington,  attended  only  by  one  man-servant,  whom  ho 
bad  left  in  London  during  his  absence  in  Holland.  On  the 
evening  of  the  third  day  he  arrived  in  sight  of  his  own 
dwelling,  one  of  those  commodious  halls  built  in  the  reign  ol 
Henry  the  Eighth. 

Deeply  ruminating  on  the  probable  result  of  the  dreadful 
plot  in  which  he  was  engaged,  he  did  not  perceive  that  a 
cavalier  and  a  lady,  who  bore  a  small  merlin  in  her  hand, 
Q 


'70  TALES    OF    OTHER    DAYS. 

were  walking  their  horses  down  the  lane  which  led  to  his 
house,  and  conversing  with  great  earnestness,  while  two 
spaniels  gambolled  round  them  and  jumped  to  lick  the  hand 
of  the  cavalier.  It  was  not  until  he  arrived  at  his  own  gate 
that  he  found  the  lady  to  be  his  daughter;  who,  upon  per- 
ceiving him,  jumped  from  her  palfrey  and  flew  into  his  arms. 
Without  noticing  the  young  man,  Wentour  strained  his 
daughter  in  his  embrace,  and  affectionately  kissed  her  fore- 
head and  cheek. 

44  Amy,"  said  he,  placing  her  arm  within  his,  and  entering 
the  house,  "  1  have  much  to  say  to  thee — thou  must  with  me 
to  London,  for  business  of  great  weight  calls  rne  thither." 

"  Is  it  so  pressing,  dear  father  ?" 

44  Ay,  child,  so  pressing  that  we  must  needs  be  on  our  way 
by  to-morrow  morning." 

44  Indeed!" 

44  Ay,  in  good  truth  we  must;  therefore,  get  thy  apparel 
in  order;  and  now,  leave  me  awhile.  I  will  come  to  thee 
anon." 

He  released  her  arm,  and,  turning  to  the  young  man,  who 
nad  followed  them  in,  said — 

44  Forgive  me,  Master  Fenton,  for  my  seeming  want  of 
courtesy;  my  mind  is  rilled  with  the  business  which  has  called 
me  abroad;  give  me  thy  hand,  Cvril,  and  come  with  me  to 
my  study;  I  have  something  for  thy  ear  alone." 

He  led  the  way  to  a  small  apartment,  into  which  the  light 
was  sparingly  admitted  through  a  narrow  gotliic  window:  some 
creeping  plants  had  spread  over  the  casement,  and,  together 
with  the  arms  of  the  Wentours,  which  were  painted  on  the 
glass,  almost  obscured  the  view  without.  The  sun  was  fast 
sinking  in  the  west,  and  its  rays  streamed  through  the  window 
and  glared  on  the  several  objects  in  the  room.  On  one  side 
were  ranged  several  rows  of  bulky  volumes,  each  of  which 
would  now  be  a  treasure  to  the  bibliopolist;  and  in  a  coiner 
stood  a  suit  of  armour,  of  Milan  steel,  well  scoured  and 
polished.  A  portrait  of  an  ancestor  of  Wentour,  painted  by 
Holbein,  hung  against  the  wall. 

"  Cyril  Fenton,"  said  Wentour,  closing  the  door,  "  I  know 
thy  love  for  my  daughter;  but  I  have  hitherto  forbidden  thee, 
aware  that,  thy  slender  means  would  not  enable  thee  to  main- 
tain the  style  and  station  of  a  gentleman,  if  a  wife  were  added 
to  thy  cares; — nay,  do  not  interrupt  me;  I  will  not  hesitate 
to  let  thee  know  my  meaning: — tell  me,  hast  thou  the  will  to 
serve  me? — thy  country? — ay,  thy  God?" 


THE     FIFTH    OF     NOVEMBER.  J71 

"Your  words  are  mysterious,  good  sir;  what  mean  ye?" 

"  1  mean,"  laying  his  hand  on  Fenton's  shoulder,  "  that  the 
hour  of  our  deliverance  is  at  hand — that  the  wolf  is  within  our 
toils — an  awful  doom  awaits  our  enemies — the  heretic  band, 
who  have  so  long  scourged  us,  is  doomed  to  destruction!" 

Fenton's  colour  fled;  he  stared  at  Wentonr  with  surprise, 
and  the  word  "  treason"  fell,  scarcely  audible,  from  his  lips. 

"  Nay,  call  it  not  treason,"  said  Wentonr;  "  is  he  who 
labours  to  free  his  country  from  the  scourge  of  such  hell- 
hounds, a  traitor? — thine  own  heart  tells  thee  no.  Cvril, 
whose  bloody  law  doomed  thy  father  to  the  rack  and  the 
scaffold?  Was  it  not  the  daughter  of  that  Herod  who  so 
long  trampled  on  the  necks  of  his  wretched  people,  and 
revelled  in  their  blood?  By  Him  who  died  to  save  us,  1  am 
ashamed  to  see  thee  stand  irresolute." 

"  Oh,  Master  Wentour,"  said  Fenton,  "  it  grieves  me  to 
hear  such  words  from  you,  w  ho  have  been  as  a  father  to  me. 
Say,  what  is  the  desperate  undertaking?  alas!  1  fear  'tis  but  a 
plot  to  entrap  thee." 

"  Thou  art  a  foolish  boy,"  said  Wentour,  sternly.  "  'Tis  a 
design  framed  by  those  who  are  by  many  years  thy  seniors; 
by  men  who,  stung  by  persecution,  have  determined  to  break 
their  chains  and  deliver  England  from  the  heretic  scourge. 
Wilt  thon  join  us? — let  ay  or  no  be  the  answer." 

Cyril  was  for  some  moments  incapable  of  reply.  Fearing 
the  issue  of  the  meditated  plot,  which,  in  the  event  of  its 
fiilure,  would  inevitably  entail  disgrace,  ruin,  and  death,  upon 
all  concerned  in  it;  and  dreading,  on  the  other  hand,  to  dis- 
please the  father  of  his  beloved  Amy,  his  heart  was  torn  by 
conflicting  feelings,  and,  sinking  into  a  chair,  he  covered  his 
face  with  his  hands,  in  an  anguish  of  mind  which  even 
softened  the  heart  of  Wentour. 

Cyril  Fenton  was  the  only  child  of  a  country  gentleman, 
w  ho  participated  in  the  plot  contrived  by  Babington,  to 
release  from  prison  the  unfortunate  Queen  of  Scots,  in  the 
reign  of  Elizabeth,  and  paid  the  forfeit  with  his  blood.  His 
estate  being  confiscated  and  seized  by  the  crown,  Cyril,  then 
srarce  five  years  old,  having  a  few  months  before  lost  his 
mother,  was  thrown  on  the  world  without  a  friend  or  protec- 
tor; when  Wentour,  taking  compassion  on  his  forlorn  situa- 
tion, received  him  under  his  roof,  and  reared  him  as  his  own 
child.  Years  passed  away,  ami,  as  his  protegee  grew  up  to 
manhood,  Wentonr  mane  nim  his  steward.  Hut  he  did  not 
foresee  the  consequences  of  keeping  a  handsome  and  intelli- 


!72  TALES    OF    OTHER    DAYS. 

erent  youth,  like  Cyril,  under  the  same  roof  with  his  lovelv 
daughter;  and.  ere  he  was  aware  of  it,  both  were  deeply 
enamoured  of  each  other.  When  at  length  he  became 
acquainted  with  their  passion,  he  sharply  rebuked  Cyril  tor 
what  he  considered  the  youth's  presumption  and  ingratitude; 
and  extorted  from  him  a  promise  that  he  would  desist  from 
his  attentions  to  his  child.  Fearing  that  if  he  hesitated  to 
comply  with  this  request,  he  should  be  driven  from  the  spot 
which  contained  all  he  loved  in  the  world,  Cyril  pledged  his 
word  to  obey  this,  to  him,  cruel  injunction;  but,  alas !  love 
had  taken  too  deep  a  root  in  his  bosom,  and  gave  the  lie  to 
all  his  promises  and  assertions.  Wentour  loved  him  as  his 
own  child,  and  he  was  now  deeply  affected  at  his  distress. 

"  Come,  come,"  said  he,  "  Cyril,  look  up  and  tell  me  thou 
wilt  join  in  our  glorious  cause;  the  hand  of  Amy  shall  be 
yours,  for  it  will  place  thee  far  above  dependence." 

The  voice  of  Wentour,  which  had  before  seemed  so  stern 
to  Cyril,  now  sounded  as  music  to  his  ears.  He  rose  from 
his  seat,  and,  seizing  the  hand  of  his  benefactor,  said,  while 
lears  dimmed  his  sight — 

•'  Oh,  Master  Wentour,  my  best  and  only  friend,  I  fear 
S' >nie  dreadful  calamity  will  befall  you;  but  believe  not  that  I 
over  thought  of  shrinking1  from  you  in  the  hour  of  danger; 
no,  while  life  lasts,  I  will  not  quit  your  side." 

"Spoken  like  a  brave  youth,"'  said  Wentour;  "and  now, 
Cyril,  I  will  unfold  to  you  this  great  design."  He  described 
the  nature  of  the  conspiracy,  with  great  minuteness;  painted, 
in  glowing  terms,  the  advantages  that  would  accrue  to  those 
who  were  concerned  in  it;  and  concluded  by  again  promising 
that  Amy  should  be  his,  on  their  arrival  in  London,  when 
their  hands  should  be  joined  by  Father  Garnet,  to  whom  he 
had  unfolded  the  plot  in  his  confession,  previously  to  his 
leaving  the  metropolis. 

Early  on  the  following  morning,  Wentour,  accompanied  by 
his  daughter  and  Cyril  Fenton,  set  out  for  London,  where 
they  arrived  after  a  tedious  and  fatiguing  journey,  and  Cyril 
was  immediately  blessed  with  the  hand  of  his  lovely  daughter. 
In  the  society  of  Amy,  Cyril  was  the  happiest  of  men;  and 
each  week  that  passed  seemed  but  a  day,  though  the  time 
was  fast  approaching  when  the  tremendous  work  should  be 
accomplished,  and  the  terrible  mine,  which  was  now  in  a 
complete  state  of  preparation,  should  be  fired  by  the  daring 
hand  of  Faukes. 

But  the  actions  of  the  conspirators  were  closely  watched, 


THE    FIFTH    OF    NOVEMBER.  173 

and  their  most  secret  doings  were  reported  to  the  minister 
Cecil,  Lord  Burleigh,  the  son  of  that  Biirleigh  who  MI  v.o_ 
executed  the  commands  of  his  odious  mistress,  Elizabeth. 

It  was  on  a  dark  and  tempestuous  night,  a  few  evenings 
•before  the  meeting  of  Parliament,  that  a  figure,  closely 
•raffled  in  a  large  cloak,  cautiously  emerged  from  a  posteru 
door  of  Exeter  House  in  the  Strand,  and  proceeded  in  an 
easterly  direction  down  the  street.  Within  this  palace  sat 
Burleigh,  at  a  tahle,  upon  which  was  strewed  a  number  of 
books  and  papers,  to  which  he  occasionally  referred;  at 
length  he  rose  from  his  seat,  and,  after  taking  two  or  three 
turns  up  and  down  the  apartment,  he  rung  a  small  silver  bell, 
which  stood  on  the  table,  and  a  servant  entered. 

"  Is  Master  Nightshade  here  to-night?"  inquired  the  earl. 

"  Yes,  my  lord,  he  is  in  the  hall." 

"  Bid  him  attend  me  here  anon." 

The  domestic  quitted  the  room,  but  shortly  returned,  and 
ushered  in  a  man  of  diminutive  size,  whose  phisiognomy  was 
as  singular  as  it  was  disgusting.  A  high  pale  forehead,  only 
"xreeded  in  whiteness  by  the  grey  locks  which  shadowed  it, 
had  the  full  benefit  of  a  contrast  with  a  pair  of  eyes  black 
and  piercing,  and  expressive  of  great  shresvdness  and  cunning. 
A.  hooked  nose,  and  a  mouth  of  hideous  proportions,  gave  to 
his  whole  countenance  the  expression  of  a  demon. 

Bidding  the  servant  quit  the  room,  the  earl  shut  the  door, 
first  satisfying  himself  that  no  one  was  lurking  on  the  stairs; 
then,  throwing  himself  into  a  chair,  he  fixed  his  eyes  upon, 
this  singular  being. 

"  Well,  Master  Brian  Nightshade,"  said  he,  "  you  are 
punctual.  I  wish  to  talk  to  you  upon  a  little  business 
touching  that  wretched  slave,  Tresame.  Say,  have  ye  a 
drug  that  will  make  worm's  food  of  your  enemy  in  an  hour?" 

Brian  grinned  a  ghastly  smile.  "  I  have  many,  my  lord; 
«nd  not  a  few  that  will  kill  in  half  that  time.  See  you  this 
little  pouncet  box:'" — (he  drew  from  his  pouch  a  small  silver 
box,  not  bigger  than  a  nut-shell;)  "  it  contains  a  poison  so 
deadly,  that,  were  a  grain  of  it  placed  on  the  tongue  of  man 
or  beast,  in  fifteen  mortal  seconds  no  leech's  skill  would  avail; 
or,  were  it  rubbed  upon  the  point  of  sword  or  knife,  no 
diirurgeon  would  save  from  death  the  man  who  received  the 
wound." 

"  'Tis  well,"  said  the  earl;  "to  be  plain  with  thee,  I  would 
tain  see  how  this  subtle  drug  will  work  upon  that  knavo, 
Fnmcis  Tresame." 

9  »  2 


174  TALES    OF    OTHER    DAYS. 

"  Francis  Tresame!"  echoed  Brian,  in  a  tone  of  surprise. 

"  Ay,"  said  the  earl,  sternly;  "  why  dost  thou  distend  that 
malignant  eye  of  thine?  Art  thou  not  a  hater  of  thy  species, 
and  dost  th'ou  hesitate  to  destroy  one  whom  I  now  place 
within  thy  clutch  ?" 

"  Your  pardon,  my  lord;  I  marvelled  to  hear  your  desire, 
for  I  thought  he  had  proved  of  great  service  to  your  lord- 
ship." 

"  Ay,  Master  NightsTiade,  but  he  now  knows  too  much. 
To  worm  myself  into  his  confidence — for  he  was  faithful  to 
his  friends  at  first — I  possessed  him  with  some  secrets,  which, 
if  now  disclosed,  would  brine:  much  evil  upon  the  state; — he 
must  die,  but  not  yet.  He  has  just  left  me  with  a  letter  for 
the  Lord  Monteagle,  which  will  cause  the  destruction  of  his 
friends,  and  work  his" 

A  tap  at  the  door  of  the  room  interrupted  the  remainder  of 
Burleigh's  speech,  and,  on  its  being  opened,  a  servant  an- 
nounced the  return  of  Tresame.  Brian  Nightshade,  by 
command  of  the  earl,  quitted  the  room  oy  a  secret  door,  while 
Tresame  almost  immediately  entered  by  another. 

****** 

On  the  evening  of  the  4th  of  November,  the  conspirators 
met  in  Catesbye's  house  in  Palace  Yard,  and  made  everything 
ready  for  the  approaching  catastrophe.  Their  solemn  oath 
was  renewed,  and  each  swore  to  stand  by  his  friend,  "  and 
abyde  the  uttermost  tryal."  At  midnight  they  separated, 
and  departed  with  all  possible  secrecy,  leaving  Faukes  in  care  of 
the  house,  with  everything  necessary  for  the  firing  of  the  train. 
Catesbye  was  the  last  who  quitted  the  premises,  and,  as  he 
passed  out,  he  bent  a  look  so  eloquent  and  impressive  upon 
his  bold  associate,  that  it  went  to  the  soul  of  Faukes. 

"  Farewell,''  said  Guy,  "  farewell,  my  honoured  friend; 
doubt  not  my  faith;  but  a  few  hours  and  a  roar,  as  of  a  thou- 
sand culverins,  shall  announce  to  you  the  destruction  of  our 
foes." 

"  Farewell  for  awhile,"  said  Catesbye;  "  a  boat  shall  be 
waiting  for  you  at  the  stairs  to-morrow;  have  a  care  that  the 
train  be  well  fired." 

"  Never  fear  that, "  replied  Faukes,  "  'twill  not  be  the  first 
mine  this  hand  has  helped  to  spring.  Give  you  good  night, 
Master  Catesbye." 

"  Good  night,"  responded  Catesby,  as  he  threw  his  cloak 
around  him;  "  we  shall  meet  to-morrow." 

Faukes  watched  the  receding  figure  of  his  daring  leader, 


THE    FIFTH    OF    NOVEMBER.  175 

until  it  was  lost  in  the  gloom;  he  was  then  about  to  re-enter 
the  house,  when  the  heavy  and  measured  tramp  of  feet  was 
distinctly  heard  above  the  moaning  of  the  night-wind. 
"  What  can  this  mean?"  thought  Guy,  straining  his  eyes  in 
the  direction  from  which  the  sound  seemed  to  come.  The 
noise  was  familiar  to  one,  the  greater  part  of  whose  life  had 
been  spent  in  the  long  wars  of  the  Low  countries;  the 
sound,  to  his  quick  ear,  was  that  of  the  march  of  a  troop  of 
soldiers,  and  he  was  deliberating  how  to  act,  should  his 
appearance  create  suspicion,  when  a  band  of  men,  some  of 
them  bearing  torches,  turning  the  corner  of  an  adjoining 
house,  immediately  appeared  in  siyht,  and  the  leader  called 
aloud  to  Faukes  to  "stand,  in  the  king's  name  !"  But  he  had 
summoned  one  whose  back  was  never  turned  to  his  enemies; 
and,  though,  strengthened  by  numbers,  his  appearance  did 
not  intimidate  Faukes,  who  suffered  him  to  approach  with  his 
company. 

"  What  is  your  name,  my  friend  ?"  said  the  leader  of  the 
party,  who  was  Sir  Thomas  Knyvet,  "  ai.d  why  are  ye 
abroad  at  this  late  hour?" 

"  My  name,"  replied  Guy,  nothing  daunted,  "  is  John 
Johnson;  I  am  a  servant  of  Master  Percy's.  As  to  my  right 
to  be  here  at  this  time,  you  have  no  authority  to  question  it." 

"  Thou  art  a  bold  knave,"  said  Sir  Thomas;  "  but  we 
will  know  what  keeps  you  from  your  bed  at  this  late  hour. 
Here,  Serjeant  Warren,  bring  your  flambeau  a  little  nearer." 

The  serjeant  advanced,  and  held  his  torch  so  as  to  show 
the  figure  of  Faukes,  who  was  enveloped  in  a  large  dark 
cloak,  and  booted  and  spurred.  His  countenance,  at  all  times 
stern  and  commanding,  now  grew  black  as  night,  and  the 
light  which  flashed  upon  his  features  added  to  their  determined 
and  awful  expression;  but,  checking  his  wrath,  he  affected  to 
treat  their  inspection  with  disdain. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  with  a  sarcastic  smile,  "  what  do  ye  dis- 
cover ?  I  should  judge  ye  to  be  barbers,  if  it  were  not  for 
your  military  garments,  for  ye  seem  taken  with  the  cut  of  my 
beard." 

"  Seize  and  bind  the  villain!"  cried  Sir  Thomas;  and  the 
serjeant  attempted  to  obey  him,  when  Faukes  tripped  up  his 
heels,  then  stepped  l>aclc  a  few  paces,  cast  his  cloak  from  him, 
and,  in  an  instant,  his  sword  was  bared,  and  a  long  petrionel 
appeared  grasped  in  his  left  hand. 

"  What!  are  ye  all  afraid  of  one  man?"  cried  the  knight, 
perceiving  that  the  soldiers  discovered  no  inclination  to  rush 


176  TALES  OF  OTHER  DAYS. 

u]H*r».  Guy;    "  then    I    must   lead   ye   on; — surrender,    t.hou 
traitorous  ruffian,  or  die  a  dog's  death!" 

"Never!"  shouted  Faukes.  "Come  on!  here  will  1 
stand  until  this  body  is  no  longer  capable  of  resistance; — 
come  on,  I  say,  ye  who  fear  not  steal  nor  lead !" 

He  drew  the  trigger  of  his  petrionel  as  he  spoke,  and,  had 
it  not  hung  fire,  so  true  was  his  aim,  the  knight  would  not 
have  assisted  in  his  capture. 

This  failure  evidently  disconcerted  Guy,  who  hurled  the 
petriouel  with  great  violence,  and  with  a  bitter  curse,  at  tlie 
head  of  the  foremost  soldier,  who  honoured  the  salute  with 
the  lowest  possible  prostration.  But  in  doing  this,  Faukes 
had  neglected  his  guard,  and  the  rest  of  the  party,  rushing 
forward,  disarmed  and  secured  him,  after  a  desperate  struggle. 
By  command  of  the  knight,  he  was  conveyed  into  the  house, 
which  the  whole  party  entered;  and  it  was  not  long  ere  they 
descended  to  the  large  vault,  where  they  commenced  a  strict 
search. 

"  Pull  off  those  fagots  there,"  cried  Sir  Thomas.  His 
commands  were  quickly  obeyed,  and  a  barrel  was  discovered 
beneath  them — another,  and  another  appeared,  and  the  knight, 
turning  to  Faukes,  said — 

"  Tell  me,  vile  slave,  what  do  these  tubs  contain  r" 

Faukes  looked  at  him  with  the  eyes  of  a  tiger  that 
has  been  robbed  of  its  prey;  he  drew  up  his  lull  and 
athletic  figure  to  its  utmost  height,  and,  in  a  voice  of  thunder, 
which  rang  through  the  vault  in  prolonged  echoes,  cried — 

"Powder,  Sir  Knight!  Had  I  received  your  visit  here,  I 
would  ha'  fired  my  petrionel  into  that  cask,  and  sent  your 
tools  and  you  a-riding  on  the  night-air!" 

"  Then,  Heaven  be  praised  for  this  prevention  of  thy 
murderous  design,"  exclaimed  the  knight;  "  lead  him  away, 
close  up  the  house,  and  guard  him  well.  I  will  hasten  to  the 
council,  and  inform  them  of  his  capture." 

******* 

Early  on  the  morning  of  the  third  day  of  his  appre- 
hension, Faukes,  who  had  been  confined  in  the  Tower,  in 
one  of  the  dungeons  in  which  state  prisoners  were  usually 
immured,  was  aroused  from  his  slumbers  by  the  heavy  fall  of 
the  bar  and  the  withdrawing  of  the  bolts  which  secured  the 
door  of  his  prison.  He  started  from  his  straw  bed,  and 
beheld  the  gaoler  standing  over  him.  In  answer  to  his 
question,  why  he  was  disturbed,  he  was  informed  that  ne 
must  attend  the  council,  who  wen?  inon  sitting  in  the  White 


THE     FIFTH     OF     NOVEMBER.  177 

TVv.vcr.  Gathering  up  his  fetters,  Guv,  though  weak  from 
mental  and  bodily  suffering,  walked  with  a  firm  step  to  the 
GOUncil-rooni,  where  he  beheld  the  noblemen  who  were  to 
examine  him.  As  he  entered  this  gloomy  apartment,  his  eve 
glanced  on  the  rack,  which  stood  near  the  door,  and  his  wan 
check  assumed  a  livid  hue;  but  it  was  only  momentary;  he 
raised  his  head,  and  viewed  the  assembly  with  an  undaunted 
glance. 

"  He  is  as  gallant,  a  figure  as  one  would  wish  to  behold," 
whispered  Nightshade  to  the  executioner,  who  stood  leaning1 
against  the  rack  with  his  doublet  off,  and  his  ar.ns  bare  to  the 
elbows. 

"  He  is  not  so  proper  a  man,  though,  as  Harry  Vaughan, 
whom  I  assisted  in  his  journey  to  a  better  world  some 
two  years  since  come  Candlemas,"  replied  the  man  of 
deaih. 

One  of  the  council  now  addressed  Faukes,  and  demanded 
his  name. 

"John  Johnson,"  was  the  reply. 

"  Have  ve  not  gone  bv  other  names?" 

••  No."  * 

"  Who  are  your  associates  in  this  hellish  plot?" 

"  If  I  thought  that  threats  or  torture  would  make  me  con- 
fess, I  would,  like  the  Egyptian  of  old,  pluck  out  my  tongue 
and  cast  it  before  ye"." 

"  You  have  companions,  then?  What  fiend  tempted  ye  to 
contrive  so  bloody  a  conspiracy '{" 

Fankcs  smiled  bitter!  v. 

"  Ye  shall  know,"  said  he.  "  There  are  hounds  to  the 
patience  and  submission  of  the  most  abject  slaves,  and  such, 
alas!  have  been  too  many  of  my  countrymen.  I,  and  my 
fellows,  have  seen  the  broad  lands,  which  our  fathers 
possessed,  gra-ped  by  tiie  hands  of  men  who  have  over- 
turned that  religion  which  has  for  so  many  hundred  years 
flourished  like  a  fair  vine  in  this  once  happy  country.* 
We  have  seen  the  trems  which  once  decked  the  shrines  of 
saints  and  martyrs  glittering  in  the  crown  of  a  tyrant.  We 

*  Even  the  gallant  and  accomplished  Raleigh  participated  in  the 
plunder.  This  is  a  lamentable  truth,  and  would  almost  incline  us  to 
the  opinion  of  Kchard,  who  declares  Sir  Walter's  misfortunes  to  be 
an  indication  of  Hie  hand  t>/  Heaven  for  his  acceptance  of  some 
church  l.mds  in  the  reiffn  of  tilizubeth.  However,  it  is  to  be  hoped 
that  Raleigh's  long  suffering  and  subsequent  death  made  ample 
atonement. 


178  TALES  OF  OTHER  DAYS. 

nave  beheld  the  gold  and  silver  ornaments  of  the  altar 
melted  down  into  coin;  and,  O  wretched  land!  whole  bands 
nave  been  hired  with  it,  to  combat  those  who  still  hold  to 
the  good  faith.  We  have  seen  the  boldest  and  the  proudest 
in  England  writhing  on  the  rack  or  swinging  on  gibbels, 
because  they  held  fast  to  that  holy  faith  in  which  thc-ir 
forefathers  lived  and  died.  To  crown  all,  we  now  behold 
this  country  swarming  with  needy  foreigners — with  those  vile 
Scotch,  who  have  so  long  been  our  deadly  foes.  'Twas  to 
revenge  these  injuries  that  I  would  have  fired  that  dreadful 
mine,  and  blown  those  needy  vagrants  back  to  their  native 
mountains!" 

Here  one  of  the  council  rose,  and  sternly  bade  Faukcs 
disclose  the  names  of  his  associates. 

"  Prisoner,"  said  he,  "  we  have  heard  enough  of  your 
treason  to  satisfy  us  that  you  have  many  of  your  friends  in 
this  devilish  plot.  You  have  lied  in  giving  us  the  n^ine  of 
Johnson — you  have  gone  by  another,  confess  it,  or  you  will 
be  ordered  to  the  rack  without  delay.  Do  you  hesitate? — 
Then  take  the  consequences  of  your  stubbornness.  Exe- 
cutioner, to  the  rack  with  him."* 

*  "  The  rack  is  used  nowhere  as  in  England.  In  other  countries  it 
•s  used  in  judicature,  where  there  is  a  '  Semiplcna  probatis,"  a  half 
proof  against  a  man;  then,  to  see  if  they  can  make  it  full,  they  rack 
him  if  he  will  not  confess.  But  here,  in  England,  they  take  a  man  and 
rack  him,  I  do  not  know  why  or  when;  not  in  time  of  judicature,  but 
when  somebody  bids!" — SELDEN. 

Our  histories  of  England  tell  us  that  Faukes,  even  before  the 
council,  betrayed  the  same  intrepidity  and  firmness,  but  that,  being 
confined  in  the  Tower  for  a  few  days,  and  the  rack  having  been 
"just  shown  him,"  he  made  a  full  confession.  Now,  as  to  the  fact  of 
his  being  racked,  it  is,  to  say  the  least  of  it,  very  unlikely  that  one  so 
bold  and  daring  would,  if  he  had  not  been  thus  treated,  in  a  few  days 
become  so  weak  and  emaciated  as  to  require  support  whilst  the 
hangman  fastened  the  rope  around  his  neck.  This  circumstance  is 
related  in  a  now  very  scarce  tract,  published  a  few  days  after  the 
bloody  tragedy  in  Palace  Yard.  As  to  the  "  full  confession,"  this  is 
such  a  monstrous  lie,  that  it  will  scarcely  require  contradiction.  If 
Faukes  did  mike  such  a  "  full  confession,"  how  was  it  that  so  few 
were  apprehended  and  punished,  when  many  hundreds  were  ready  to 
meet  in  arms  under  the  guidance  of  Sir  Everliard  Digby?  One  word 
more;  there  is,  I  have  been  informed,  a  document  in  the  State  Paper 
Office,  which  records  the  answer  of  James,  when  asked  by  one  of  his 
Lords  whether  it  was  his  Majesty's  plea-sure  that  Faukes  should  be 
racked? — "  Aw,  mon,"  was  the  reply:  "better  he  rack,  than  we 
perish"'  The  devil,  who  is,  they  say,  the  father  of  lies,  could  not 
havp  invented  mch  a  string  of  falsehoods  as  those  which  have  bee:i 


THE    FIFTH    OF    NOVEMBER.  179 

In  spite  of  his  powerful  struggles,  Guy  was  placed  on  the 
horrible  engine.  The  second  turn  of  the  wheel  extorted  a 
deep  hollow  groan  from  the  prisoner,  who  cried  out  in 
anguish — 

"  P'or  the  love  of  Him  who  died  for  us  all,  have  mercy; — 
my  name  is  Faukes!" 

"  Ha!"  said  Burleigh,  who  presided  at  the  examination, 
"  you  have  served  in  the  Low  Countries?" 

"  I  have,"  replied  the  sufferer,  shaking  back  his  long 
hair.  ^ 

"In  the  Spanish  army?" 

"  Yes." 

"  \Vho  are  your  associates?" 

"  Away  with  ye,"  cried  Faukes,  turning  his  haggard  and 
blood-shot  eye  upon  the  questioner;  "  do  your  worst;  I  will 
not  betray  my  friends." 

Another  turn  of  the  wheel  was  ordered,  when  the  already 
distended  sinews  and  muscles  of  the  prisoner  cracked  loudly, 
and  he  fainted  from  excess  of  pain.  Nightshade  then  ap- 
proached, and,  grasping  the  clammy  hand  of  the  prisoner, 
ielt  the  throb  of  his  feverish  pulse. 

"  He  will  not  bear  much  more,"  said  he;  "  but  I  will  try  the 
effect  of  this." 

He  applied  a  small  chased  bottle  to  the  nostrils  of 
Faukes,  who  slowly  revived.  The  question  was  again  put 
to  him — 

"  Who  are  your  partners  in  this  conspiracy  ?" 

Still  suffering  the  most  excruciating  tortures,  Faukes 
persevered  in  his  resolution,  and  the  horrible  torment  was 
renewed;  but  it  proved  fruitless;  the  prisoner,  uttering  a 
suppressed  groan,  sunk  under  it,  and  lay  on  the  rack,  to  all 
appearance  dead.  In  vain  Nightshade  applied  his  resto- 
ratives; in  vain  he  bathed  with  vinegar  the  livid  brow  of  the 

written  upon  the  subject  of  the  Gunpowder  Plot  Bloody  and 
inhuman  it  certainly  was,  but  the  offenders  paid  a  bloody  penalty. 
I  will  not  shock  the  feelings  of  my  readers  by  detailing  the  manner  of 
their  execution ;  but  it  may  be  as  well  to  mention,  that  part  of  their 
punishment  consisted  in  their  being  first  half  strangled,  then  cut 
down  while  alive  and  sensible,  their  bowels  taken  out  and  burnt 
before  their  eyes,  and  their  bodies  afterwards  quartered.  This  is 
only  a  portion  of  their  punishment;  and  yet  the  monster  COKE, 
he  who  taunted  and  insulted  the  unfortunate  Raleigh,  when 
arraigned  for  a  crime  of  which  he  was  never  guilty,  complimented 
the  king  on  his  clemency  in  not  havir  invented  new  tortures  for 
them! 


180  TALES  OF  OTHER  DAYS. 

•ufferer:  Faukes  was  borne  back  to   his  prison   in  a  most 
piteous  state,  and  totally  insensible. 

•  ••••»• 

We  must  now  return  to  Wentour  and  his  family,  who  had, 
upon  tfieir  arrival  in  London,  taken  lodgings  in  the  Strand. 
Amy  knew  not  of  the  dreadful  conspiracy  in  which  her 
father  was  engaged,  and,  in  the  society  of  her  husband,  there 
was  only  one  alloy  to  her  happiness:  this  was  the  moody  and 
reserved  state  of  her  parent,  whose  strange  demeanour  she 
viewed  with  disquiet  and  even  alarm.  Wentour  had  ar- 
ranged his  plans,  and  was  prepared  to  meet  the  result  of  the 
plot,  whichever  way  the  scale  misrht  turn.  Should  it  prove 
abortive,  he  had  resolved  to  sell  his  life  as  dearly  as  possible 
in  the  cause  of  his  friends:  for  he  had  already  provided  a 
protector  for  his  daughter,  in  the  person  of  Cyril  Fenton, 
whom  he  had  not  introduced  to  his  confederates  on  that 
account. 

On  the  eve  of  the  memorable  5th  of  November,  Wentour, 
after  affectionately  embracin?  his  daughter,  quitted  his  lodg- 
ings, saying  that  he  should  not  return  until  the  morning. 
Cyril  witnessed  his  departure  with  a  sigh,  for  he  well  knew 
the  dreadful  business  which  engaged  his  father-in-law,  who 
had  solemnly  enjoined  him  to  discharge  the  sacred  trust  he 
had  confided  to  him.  The  caresses  of  his  lovely  bride  in 
some  degree  soothed  the  anguish  of  Fenton;  but  when  he 
tried  to  drown  in  sleep  the  horrible  fears  which  haunted  him, 
the  most  ghastly  visions  succeeded.  He  beheld  a  spacious 
building  totter  to  its  base,  while  loud  shrieks  issued  from 
within.  A  black  cloud  obscured  the  whole,  and  a  crash, 
louder  than  the  discharge  of  a  thousand  cannon  followed. 
He  awoke  with  terror,  and  found  that  it  was  a  dream. 
Again  composing  himself  to  sleep,  he  saw  the  gory  head  of 
Wentour  roll  on  the  scaffold,  while  the  shouts  of  an  assem- 
bled multitude  cheered  the  dexterity  of  the  headsman.  He 
leapt  from  his  bed,  and,  rushing  to  the  window,  drew  aside 
the  curtain.  The  morning  sun  shone  brightly  into  the 
apartment;  all  was  serene  and  quiet;  the  sparrows  chirped  on 
the  roof,  and  the  sky  looked  clear  and  cloudless.  How  dif- 
ferent the  scene  to  the  awful  visions  that  had  haunted  him ! 
He  turned  to  his  bride,  on  whose  lids  sleep  still  sat,  while  the 
hue  of  the  rose  tinged  her  cheek;  her  lips  lay  apart,  and  dis- 
closed a  row  of  teeth,  small,  even,  and  rivalling  the  pearl  in 
whiteness. 

M  Heaven  shield  thee,  dearest,"  ejaculated  he,  as  he  kissed 


THE    FIFTH    OF    NOVEMBER.  1M 

her  forehead;  "  thy  sleep  is  as  calm  and  unbroken  as  the  un- 
wearied child:  sleep  on,  for,  alas!  I  fear  thou  wilt  wake  to 
hear  ill  tidings." 

Amy  awoke  at  this  moment,  and  Cyril  evaded  her  ques- 
tions by  speaking  of  their  return  to  Huddington,  though  his 
unusual  paleness  and  sunken  eye  too  plainly  told  what  was 
passing  within  him. 

A  place  was  reserved  for  Wentour  at  the  breakfast-table, 
but  he  appeared  not,  to  partake  of  their  morning's  meal. 
Fenton  remained  in  a  state  of  harrowing  suspense,  every 
moment  expecting  to  hear  the  horrible  announcement  of  the 
catastrophe,  which  would  inevitably  take  place,  if  the  con- 
spirators remained  true  to  each  other.  The  cleck  of  St. 
Clement's  church  at  length  chimed  the  hour  of  ten,  and,  ere 
the  sound  had  died  away,  the  noise  of  horses'  hoofs  was 
heard  in  the  street,  and  the  next  moment  Wentour  entered 
the  room,  the  perspiration  streaming  from  every  pore. 

"  Amy — Cyril — my  children,"  he  cried,  "  away  from  this 
place!  All  is  lost!  our  enemies  triumph — Faukes  is  taken, 
and  the  whole  is  discovered;  Cyril,  look  to  my  child — ay,  1 
know  thou  wilt.  Amy,  farewell,  perhaps  for  ever!"  Amy 
fainted  in  the  arms  of  her  husband,  while  \\entourcontinued, 
"  At  Fresh  Wharf,  near  Belings  Gate,  a  vessel  sails  for 
Ostend  at  eleven." 

"  You  will  accompany  us  ?"  said  Cyril. 

"*O,  no,  no,  no;  my  word  is  pledged  to  my  friends.  Look 
to  thy  sweet  charge,  I  conjure  thee.  Farewell,  Cyril,  for 
ever — there  is  as  much  gold  there,"  pointing  to  a  box  w  hich 
stood  in  a  corner  of  the  room,  "  as  will  maintain  ye  in  com- 
fort as  hong  as  ye  live." 

Wentour  kissed  the  cheek  of  his  daughter,  and  his  tears 
fell  fast  on  her  face,  but  she  still  remained  insensible  of  her 
father's  agony.  He  then  rushed  from  the  house,  and, 
mounting  his  horse,  instantly  rode  off'  at  full  gallop. 

Our  tale  now  draws  to  a  close.  Cyril  and  his  bride  bade  a 
last  adieu  to  the  land  of  their  birth,  and  -arrived  safely  at 
Ostend.  Wentour  was  one  of  those  who  held  out  Holbeach 
House  against  the  Sheriff  of  Worcester,  who  there  surrounded 
the  conspirators.  The  particulars  of  this  attack  are  too  well 
known  to  require  repetition  here;  some  were  slain  outright, 
some  were  taken  alive,  and,  of  the  latter,  Wentour  was  one. 
He  suffered  with  his  daring  companions,  (Faukes,  Rooke- 
wood,  and  Keys,)  in  Palace  Yard,  and  in  sight  of  that 
building  they  sought  to  overthrow. 


182  TALES  OF  OTHER  DAYS. 

Tresame/  after  being  committed  to  the  Tower,  was  found 
dead  in  his  prison.  History  tells  us,  that  he  died  of  a 
stranguary,  hut  posterity  will  judge  of  the  truth  or  falsehood 
of  this  assertion.  Certain  it  is,  that  a  just  and  speedy  ven- 
geance followed  the  betrayal  of  his  friends. 


A  TALE  OF  THE  LOW  COUNTRIES. 

"  It  was  a  strange  order  that  the  doom 

Of  these  two  creatures  should  be  thus  traced  out." 

BYKON. 

IT  was  on  a  cold  winter's  evening  during  the  reign  of  Eliza- 
beth, that  a  party  of  young  gallants  were  carousing  in  the 
celebrated  Devil  Tavern  in  Fleet-street.  Liquors  of  various 
kinds  stood  before  them,  and  plainly  indicated  that  they  were 
determined  to  fortify  their  stomachs,  while  within  doors, 
against  the  piercing  cold  without.  There  was  malmsey, 
burgundy,  and  sack,  with  burnt  claret  in  profusion;  and, 
although  they  had  not  so  far  fudilled  these  choice  spirits  as 
to  make  them  absolutely  uproarious,  they  had  made  them 
lively  and  witty.  Joke  and  repartee  were  bandied  about, 
and  would  have  almost  inclined  a  more  sober  observer  to  the 
opinion  of  honest  Ben,  who  modestly  tells  us  that  the  wit  and 
humour  of  him  and  his  companions  so  pervaded  the  atmo- 
sphere of  this  tavern,  that  even  bumpkins  were  inspired,  after 
they  had  quitted  it. 

"  Well,  Hal,"  said  one  of  the  gallants,  slapping  the  shoulder 
of  him  who  sat  on  his  right-hand,  "  by  cock  and  pye,  it  glads 
my  heart  to  see  thee  here;  and  hast  thou  left  thy  books,  and 
quitted  the  close  air  of  the  temple,  for  the  good  cheer  of  mine 
host  o'  the  Devil?  By  mine  honour,  thou  art  regenerated: 
thou  shall  be  baptized  in  sack,  and  admitted  again  into  the 
society  of  Christian  men." 

"  Christian  men!"  retorted  the  student;  "  why  callest  thou 
thyself  a  Christian,  Ned,  while  carousing  under  the  sign  of 
the  very  Devil  himself?  I'll  wager  a  pottle  o'  malmsey,  thou 
hast  not  seen  the  inside  of  a  church  since  last  Penticost-tide." 

"Thou  wilt  lose  thy  wager,  Frank:  ask  Barnaby,  the 
sexton  of  St.  Martin's,  if  1  was  not  the  most  devout  of  the 
congregation  on  Sunday  last." 


A    TALE    OF  THE    LOW    COUNTRIES.  183 

"  Ay,  truly,"  cried  another  of  the  company,  "  thou  wert 
there,  doubtless:  hut  it  was  Mistress  Bridget  Barlow,  the 
rich  goldsmith's  widow,  who  attracted  thee — Here's  to  thy 
success !" 

He  drank  off  a  glass  of  wine  as  he  spoke,  and  his  example 
was  followed  by  the  rest  of  the  company,  when  the  student 
called  for  a  song.  The  first  speaker,  (who  was  the  son  of  a 
rich  merchant  in  the  Chepe,)  after  giving  a  few  preparatory 
hems,  sung  as  follows: — 

Merrily,  merrily  drain  the  bowl, 

If  care  ye  would  not  dree; 
Here's  malmsey,  sack,  and  hippocras, 

Sherris  and  burgundy. 

Come,  ye  spiritless  wights,  who  are  wedded  to  scolds, 

Those  shrews  who  are  match  for  the  devil, 
'Tis  wisdom  to  flee  from  their  music,  I  trow; 

So  hasten  and  join  in  our  revel. 

And  ye  gallants,  who  scorch  'neath  your  maidens'  dark  glance, 

Who  swear  that  your  souls  are  like  tinder, 
Oh  hasten  away  from  such  kirtle  durance, 

If  ye  would  not  be  burnt  to  a  cinder. 

"  By  this  light !"  said  the  student,  "  thou  hast  a  marvel- 
lous proper  voice,  Ned;  have  ye  no  love  tale  to  tell  us?  thou 
hadst  once  a  store." 

"  Marry,  I  have  forgotten  them;  thon  knowest  my  father 
likes  not  my  travelling,  so  that  I  have  small  chance  of  hearing 
the  adventures  of  love-sick  damsels  and  gallant  knights;  but 
yonder  sits  a  gentleman  who  has,  methinks,  seen  service." 

The  person  alluded  to  by  the  young  gallant  was  a  stout, 
hale,  middle-aged  man,  whose  profession  was  indicated  by  his 
buff  coat  and  a  broad  belt  sustaining  a  long  sword,  and  a 
dagger  of  Spanish  workmanship.  He  had  lost  an  arm,  and 
the  empty  sleeve  of  his  doublet  was  fastened  by  a  point  to 
his  breast. 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  he,  on  being  pressed  to  join  the  party, 
"  I  have,  as  you  suppose,  seen  some  service,  and  have  left  an 
arm  in  the  Low  Countries.  I  commanded  a  body  of  pike- 
men  at  the  siege  of  St.  Getrudenberg,  in  Brabant;  'twas 
there  I  became  acquainted  with  an  Englishman  of  good 
family,  whose  unhappy  fate  I  shall  ever  lament.  I  will,  with 
your  permission,  relate  the  history  of  our  acquaintance,  and 
the  manner  of  his  deurh." 


18-1  TALES    OF    OTHER    DAYS. 

To  this  the  company  gladly  assented,  and  the  captain, 
draining  his  glass,  began  as  follows. 

"  On  my  arriving  in  Brabant,  Prince  Maurice  was  before 
St.  Getrudenberg,  which  he  had  assaulted  several  times, 
without  success.  The  company  under  my  command  were 
picked  men,  and  I  was  soon  actively  engaged,  for  the 
besieered  made  frequent  sallies,  and  it  required  some  of  tin; 
best  troops  to  repulse  them.  In  one  of  these  attacks,  I  was 
posted,  with  my  company,  to  support  the  charge  of  a  re<ri 
ment  of  English  pistoliers.  The  action  was  short,  bul 
bloody.  The  enemy's  harquebussiers  and  cross-bowmen 
made  sad  havock  amongst  our  horse;  at  their  first  discharge 
full  twenty  saddles  were  emptied,  and,  a  fresh  body  of  their 
bill-men  rushing  in,  completed  the  overthrow  of  our  cavalrv; 
— they  broke  ground  and  retreated.  A  desperate  charge  of 
the  pikemen  under  my  command  checked  the  pursuit  of  the 
enemy,  when,  in  the  midst  of  the  rout,  I  suddenly  beheld  a 
horse  galloping  by,  and  dragging  its  rider,  who  lay  upon  the 
ground,  his  foot  having  become  entangled  in  thfl  stirrup.  I 
flew  to  the  cavalier's  assistance,  and  with  some  difficulty 
succeeded  in  extricating  him  from  his  perilous  situation.  Ho 
pressed  my  hand  with  s^n-at  warmth,  and  thanked  me  a 
thousand  times  for  my  timely  assistance.  He  had,  luckily, 
received  only  a  few  slight  bruises,  from  the  effects  of  which 
he  recovered  in  a  few  days,  and  a.  friendship  was  cemented 
between  us,  which  nothing  but  death  could  terminate.  I 
learnt  that  his  name  was  Walter  Rymer,  and  that  he  was  the 
youngest  son  of  a  rich  family  in  the  West  Riding  of  York- 
shire. 

"  I  will  not  tire  yon,  gentlemen,  with  an  account  of  the 
many  affairs  we  had  with  the  enemy,  which  were  attended 
with  various  success.  Near  to  the  town  of  St.  Getrudenberg 
is  the  little  village  of  Stenlo,  in  which  was  a  fort  of  some 
consequence.  Prince  Maurice  was  resolved  to  get  posses- 
sion of  it,  as  it  commanded  a  weak  quarter  of  the  town.  It 
chanced  that  Rymer's  company  and  my  own  were  ordered 
upon  this  expedition,  together  with  six  culverins;  but  it 
totally  failed:  the  enemy  sallied  out,  and,  in  spite  of  the  most 
obstinate  valour  on  the  part  of  our  troops,  we  were  bearen 
back,  with  the  loss  of  many  men.  Rymer's  horse,  pierced  by 
a  harquebnss  shot,  fell  under  him,  and  he  was  seized  and 
dragged  into  the  fort  by  the  enemy,  while  our  shattered 
troops  made  good  their  retreat.  Judge  of  the  mortification 
JUKI  sorrow  I  felt  at  being  thus  deprived  of  my  friend;  indeed, 


A  TALE  OF  THE  LOW  COUNTRIES.        185 

I  had  some  fears  for  his  safety,  for  the  prisoners  on  either 
side  oittinies  experienced  rough,  and,  in  many  instances,  cruel 
treatment  at  the  hands  of  their  captors. 

"  The  alarm  we  were  kept  in  during  the  few  succeeding 
days  diverted  my  melancholy;  but  the  enemy,  weakened  hv 
the  continual  checks  we  had  given  them,  became  less  ven- 
turous, and  kept  within  their  walls,  and  I  was  again  left  to 
deplore  the  loss  of  my  friend. 

"  One  night,  while  sitting  in  my  tent  absorbed  in  thought, 
1  heard  the  hasty  challenge  of  the  sentinel,  and  at  the  same 
moment  Rymer  entered.  I  am  not  naturally  superstitious, 
out  this  sudden  apparition  of  my  friend,  whom  I  had  con- 
sidered lost  to  me,  completely  staggered  my  senses.  His 
dress  was  wet  and  disordered,  and  covered  with  green  weeds, 
and  his  Ions:  dark  hair  dripped  with  moisture.  The  warm 
pressure  of  the  hand  with  which  I  was  greeted,  convinced 
me,  however,  that  it  was  he,  and  I  eagerly  inquired  how  he 
had  escaped? 

"  •  We  will  talk  of  that  anon,'  said  he;  '  but,  first,  give  me  a 
cast  of  your  clothes,  for  I  have  been  playing  the  otter,  and 
am  wet  to  the  skin.' 

"  1  complied  with  this  request,  and,~\vhen  he  had  changed 
his  dress,  he  gave  me  an  account  of  his  escape. 

"  *  Markham,'  said  he,  '  am  not  I  a  lucky  wight,  to  make  a 
conquest  while  a  prisoner  in  yonder  fort?' 

"A  conquest!"  echoed  I,  incredulously — "What  mean 
you? — I  cannot  solve  your  riddle." 

"  '  Marry,  no  less  than  this:  the  governor  of  that  fort  has 
a  niece,  as  fair  a  maid  as  e'er  set  free  a  captive  knight. 
Wouldst  thou  believe  it- — while  I  lay  this  evening  in  my 
dungeon  mourning  the  loss  of  my  freedom,  and  moreover  my 
coat  of  mat  and  Bilboa  blade,  which  those  Walloon  dogs 
have  despoiled  me  of,  the  door  opened,  and  that  sweet  girl 
entered  my  prison.  She  bore  a  small  lamp,  and  was  followed 
by  a  dwarfish  figure,  who  carried  «  basket. 

"'Stranger,'  said  she,  'this  coivV°t  may  seem  to  thee 
unmaidenlv,  but  you  are  an  Englishman,  av\  will  not  judge 
me  harshly  for  my  rashness.  You  must  hasten,  ^m  this 
place,  or  your  head  will  be  set  on  the  walls  by  sunrise,  a  sad 
spectacle  for  your  gallant  countrymen.' 

"  '  Had'st  thou  been  there,  my  friend,  thou  wouldst  have 

thought  me  eloquent;  for  methinks  I  never  poured  out  my 

thanks  so  freely — no,  not  even  when  I  experienced  thy  kind 

and  timely  assistance.     To  be  brief,  she  enjoined  silence,  the 

R  2 


186  TALES  OF  OTHER  DAYS. 

dwarf  was  ordered  to  file  the  fetters  which  secured  my  legs, 
and  in  a  few  minutes  I  was  free. 

"'Now,'  said  my  fair  deliverer,  'follow,  but  be  iilent — 
your  life  depends  upon  it!' 

"  '  We  passed  from  the  dungeon  with  stealthy  pace,  and, 
after  passing  through  several  passages,  ascended  a  flight  of 
steps.  Here  the  measured  tread  of  a  sentinel  becam<  audible. 
The  dwarf  was  dismissed,  and  I  neglected  not  to  improve  the 
opportunity.  Short  as  it  was,  I  succeeded,  and  my  fair  de- 
liverer promised  to  be  mine.  A  hasty  kiss  sealed  the  com- 
pact, and  I  solemnly  swore  to  bear  her  away  from  the  fort 
to-morrow  evening.  The  sentinel,  whose  steps  I  had  heard, 
produced  a  rope,  which  he  fastened  to  the  wail,  and  I  quickly 
lowered  myself  into  the  fosse  which  surrounds  the  fort,  swam 
across,  and  arrived  here  without  molestation.' 

"  Such,  gentlemen,  was  the  account  he  gave  me  of  his 
escape.  I  listened  to  him  with  serious  attention;  ami.  though 
I  saw  clearly  the  danger  of  the  attempt  to  c  n TV  o!t'  his  mis- 
tress, I  resolved  to  aid  him  with  heart  and  hand  in  the  enter- 
prise. Not  to  tire  you  with  an  account  of  our  preparations, 
I  will  proceed  with  my  story.  Night  arrived,  and  found  us, 
with  about  fifty  men/ under  the  walls  of  the  fort.  A  raft, 
constructed  with  light  timber,  served  us  to  cross  the  moat. 
Rymer  and  myself  crossed,  and  a  postern  gate  admitted  us 
with  five  men.  The  sentinels  had  been  bribed,  and  all  was 
still,  save  the  howling  of  the  dogs  within  the  fort.  Leaving 
our  men  at  the  gate,  we  proceeded  on  tiptoe  along  a  dark 
passage.  The  soldier  who  had  admitted  us,  then  cautiously 
unlocked  a  small  door  in  the  walK  and  ascended  a  flight  of 
steps:  we  followed  him,  and,  on  gaining  the  top,  were  told  to 
wait  awhile.  He  then  left  us,  but  returned  in  a  few  minutes, 
and  desired  Rymer  to  follow  him.  This  proceeding  some- 
what alarmed  me.  What  if  it  should  be  a  concerted  plan  to 
betray  us?  However,  I  resolved  to  defend  myself  to  the  last, 
if  it  should  prove  so;  and,  after  cocking  my  petrionels,  which 
I  had"  taken  from  the  holsters  of  my  saddle,  I  placed  them 
again  in  my  girdle,  and,  loosening  my  sword  in  its  sheath, 
stood  prepared  for  any  attack  that  might  be  made  upon  me, 
looking  cautiously  round  on  all  sides.  The  room  in  which  I 
was  left  had  three  doors;  the  one  opposite  to  that  by  which 
I  had  entered  stood  open,  and,  on  looking  through  it,  I  per- 
ceived that  a  flight  of  stairs  descended  into  a  dark  and  gloomy 
passaere.  At  this  instant  I  was  somewhat  startled  on  hearing 
a  noise,  as  of  cautious  footsteps,  and,  looking  down  into  the 


A  TALE  OF  THE  LOW  COUNTRIES.        187 

space  below,  I  perceived  a  man  approaching;  he  had  a  torch 
in  his  hand,  and  I  saw  him  cautiously  step  over  the  bodies 
of  two  soldiers,  who  were  sleeping  upon  the  floor.  Their 
calivers*  lay  on  the  ground,  w;th  their  lighted  matches  at  a 
little  distance.  Drawing  my  cloak  around  me,  and  shading' 
the  light  of  my  lamp,  I  waited  the  approach  of  this  person, 
whose  footsteps  1  soon  heard  ascending  the  stairs,  and  the 
next  moment  he  entered  the  room.  He  was  a  man  of  tall 
and  commanding  stature;  his  hailess  head  v\as  bald,  and  his 
forehead  high,  and  he  glanced  round  tho  room  with  an  air  of 
mistrust.  I  had  retreated  into  a  corner,  in  the  hope  that  he 
would  pass  without  perceiving  me;  but  I  was  deceived,  for 
he  demanded  to  know  who  I  was,  and,  at  the  same  time, 
cocked  and  presented  a  pistol.  I  drew  rny  sword,  and  rushed 
upon  him;  he  snapped  his  pistol,  but  it  missed  fire,  and  my 
thrust  was  broken  by  the  cloak,  which  he  had  thrown  over 
his  left  arm.  This  gave  him  time  to  draw  his  sword, 
and  he  pressed  upon  me  with  great  vigour.  The  clash 
of  our  weapons  would  have  certainly  alarmed  the  guards 
who  slept  beneath,  had  not  their  liquor  been  drugged. 
The  noise,  however,  aroused  Rymer,  who  entered  with  his 
mistress.  I  conjured  him  to  fly  instantly,  while  I  kept  my 
adversary  at  sword's  point.  He  reluctantly  obeyed,  and  left 
the  apartment,  though  he  had  already  drawn  his  sword  to 
assist  me.  My  antagonist  swore  deeply,  on  perceiving  his 
niece.  This  sight  probably  threw  him  off  his  guard,  for,  a 
violent  thrust  striking  him  on  the  breast,  he  reeled,  and, 
staggering  backwards,  fell  down  the  stairs.  His  coat  of  mail 
saved  him,  and  shivered  my  sword  to  pieces;  but  the  fall  was 
terrible,  and  I  heard  his  armour  ring  as  his  body  bounded 
from  step  to  step  till  he  reached  the  bottom.  Not  a  moment 
was  to  be  lost;  I  quickly  secured  the  door,  so  that  he  could 
not  pursue  us,  and  flew  to  my  friend,  who  had  borne  off  his 
prize.  We  had  reached  the  gate,  when  the  loud  ringing  of 
a  bell  told  us  that  the  garrison  was  alarmed,  and  in  an  instant 
a  roar  of  voices  was  heard  within  the  fort.  The  men  who 
had  remained  at  the  gate,  seized  with  fear,  jumped  on  the 
raft — Rymer  followed  with  his  fair  burden — and  that  moment 
it  upset! 

****** 

That  night  will  never  be  effaced  from  my  memory !  One 
loud  and  thrilling  shriek  of  mortal  agony  burst  from  the 

*  Caliver—a.  short  matchlock  hand-gun,  fired  without  a  rert. 


188  TALES  OF  OTHER  DAYS. 

unfortunates,  whose  armour  did  not  allow  them  a  chance  of 
escaping.  The  fosse  was  deep — they  sunk  down,  and  the  next 
moment  the  raft  rose  to  the  surface  of  the  water!  A  heavy  fire 
from  the  troops,  who  now  lined  the  walls,  rendered  any  attempt 
to  save  them  impracticable:  indeed,  I  was  in  much  danger  my- 
self; but,  having  cut  with  my  dagger  the  straps  of  my  corslet,  I 
threw  it  off,  and  swam  across  the  fosse,  uninjured  by  the 
shower  of  balls  which  was  rained  from  the  fort,  and  regained 
iny  troop,  overwhelmed  with  sorrow  for  the  fate  of  my  young 
friend.  ,  The  fort  was  taken  a  few  days  afterwards,  when  a 
shot  from  a  culverin  took  off  my  left  arm. 

"  Gentlemen,  pardon  these  tears  for  the  untimely  fate  of  a 
valued  friend  and  comrade.  The  recollection  of  it  has 
rendered  me  unfit  for  your  company. — Give  you  good  night." 

The  captain  rose  as  he  spoke,  threw  his  cloak  around  him, 
bowed  to  the  company,  and,  notwithstanding  their  entreaties, 
departed. 


TRIAL  BY  BATTLE. 

"  Albany.  There  is  my  pledge  ;  I'll  prove  it  on  thy  heart, 
Ere  I  taste  bread,  thou  art  in  nothing  less 
Than  I  have  here  proclaimed  thee." 

King  Lear. 

FEW  places  have  undergone  so  complete  a  transformation  as 
the  vicinity  of  the  far-famed  London-stone.  Dowgate  is  no 
more;  the  swift  current  of  Walbrook  has  for  many  centuries 
been  hidden  from  view,  and  London-stone,  itself  an  object  of 
surmise  and  speculation  to  this  day,  is  safely  fixed  in  the  wall 
of  St.  Swithiii's  church.  Where,  I  pray,  are  those  magnifi- 
cent structures  of  which  the  old  city  "historian  Stowe  speaks 
with  such  allowable  pride?  Where  is  the  stately  hall  which 
once  stood  in  this  neighbourhood?  Where  the  ancient 
fortress  of  Tower  Royi-.l,  of  which  the  name  alone  is  left,  as 
the  perishable  cognomen  of  an  obscure  street.  All  have 
vanished,  and,  to  ihe  neighing  of  the  war-horse,  the  bray  of 
the  trumpet,  and  the  trarnp  of  the  mailed  knight  and  man-at- 
arms,  have  succeeded  the  bustle  and  hum  of  business,  the 
coarse  oaths  of  carmen,  and  the  rumbling  of  ignoble  vehicles. 
In  the  reign  of  Richard  the  First,  Walbrook  was  not,  ;.< 
now.  iiidden  from  view.  It  was  then  a  rapid  stream,  wl.'u  ;i 


TRIAL    BY    BATTLE.  189 

passed  over  the  site  of  the  present  street,  and,  rushing  down 
Dowgate  Hill,  flowed  through  Dowgate,  and  emptied  itself 
into  the  Thames. 

It  was  on  the  evening  preceding  the  day  on  which  he  of 
the  Lion  Heart  entered  London  in  triumph,  after  his  return 
from  captivity  in  Austria,  long  after  the  vesper-bell  had 
rung,  that  two  ruffianly-looking  men  were  standing  under  the 
shade  of  a  pent-house  on  the  banks  of  this  stream,  engaged 
in  earnest  conversation.  Their  gait  and  air  were  those  of 
retainers,  or  armed  vassals;  they  were  clad  in  jerkins  of 
coarse  green  serge,  over  which  they  wore  jacks  or  actons  of 
tough  bull's  hide,  at  that  time  the  only  defensive  armour  for 
the  body,  worn  by  the  common  soldiers;  their  le^s  were  bare 
from  the  middle  of  the  thigh  nearly  to  the  ankle,  and  their 
feet  were  cased  in  short  buskins  of  leather.  Their  arms  con- 
sisted of  a  sword  and  a  long  knife,  or  dudgeon  dagger,  and 
they  carried  with  them  bucklers  of  a  diminutive  size,  studded 
with  nails,  and  ornamented  at  the  edges  with  a  sort  of  fringe 
or  hair. 

"  The  fiend  rive  this  tardy  knight!"  exclaimed  one  of  the 
worthies,  stamping  with  impatience;  "by  St.  Erkenwald,  we 
shall  be  disturbed  by  the  city  watch,  an'  he  come  not  soon." 

"  Whist,  Leof,"  replied  his  comrade;  "  keep  a  guard  on 
thy  tongue,  or,  if  ye  must  talk,  let  it  be  in  a  somewhat  gentler 
tone,  for  we  may  have  a  greeting  from  some  of  the  citizens* 
•windows;  perhaps  from  old  Bouvrie  yonder,  who  is  a  shrewd 
hand  at  the  cross-bow,  and  bears  us  Saxons  no  good  will,  as 
you  know." 

"  1  fear  not  his  shafts,"  replied  Leof,  with  an  oath,  "  and 
I'll  take  care  that  he  shall  not  show  his  skill  much  longer; 
my  dagger  and  his  costard  shall  be  acquainted  ere  many  days 
be  past." 

"  You  must  swear  that  to-morrow,"  said  the  other,  "  for 
you  may  not  go  home  scathless  to-night:  he  whom  we  have 
to  do  with  is  a  proper  man-at-arms,  and  carries  a  sharp  sword 
and  a  heavy;  thou  wilt  find  him  no  child's  play,  by  my 
halidame!" 

"  Tut,  I  fear  it  not,"  replied  Leof;  "  my  hand  is  steady, 
and" 

As  he  spoke,  a  figure  was  observed  advancing  cautiously 
towards  them,  under  the  shadow  of  the  houses,  and  in  a  few 
minutes  a  man,  clad  in  complete  armour,  but  enveloped  in  a 
large  dark  mantle,  stood  before  them.  His  height  and  si/e 
far  exceeded  that  of  ordinary  men,  and  his  step  was  calm 


liM)  TALES    OF    OfHER    DAYS. 

and  dignified.  The  sword-pommel  of  silver,  and  the  richly 
chased  dagger,  the  massy  chain  of  scold  around  his  neck,  and 
the  gilt  spurs  which  clanked  on  his  heels,  showed  that  he 
was  a  knight,  while  the  deep  scar  on  his  forehead  indicated 
that  he  had  performed  some  service  in  the  field. 

"  Well,  my  trusty  fellows,"  said  he,  "  have  ye  seen  aught 
of  mine  enemy  yet  ?" 

"  No,"  replied  one  of  the  ruffians,  in  a  surly  tone,  "  and 
we  have  waited  your  coming  almost  since  nightfall." 

"  Tut,  chafe  it  not,  Leof,"  said  the  knight,  "  but  prepare 
thyself,  for  he  will  pass  this  way  anon." 

"  I  am  ready,  Sir  Radulf,"  said  Cedric,  the  other  worthy, 
touching  the  hilt  of  his  dagger;  "  my  basilard  here  is  sharp, 
and  inv  arm  is  firm." 

He  half  unsheathed  the  weapon  as  he  spoke,  and  its  bright 
blade  gleamed  in  the  moonlight,  for  the  queen  of  heaven  was 
now  struggling  through  the  dark  and  murky  cloud;-,  and  as 
her  edge  now  and  then  appeared  above  them,  her  beams 
were  poured  over  the  ancient  Dowgate,  and  fell  in  an  unin- 
terrupted line  on  the  gurgling  stream  as  it  rushed  along. 
The  spire  of  the  venerable  church  of  St.  Mary  liothawe  * 
raised  its  grey  head  high  above  the  surrounding  houses,  and 
the  faint  sound  of  the  evening  service  reached  the  ears  of  the 
guilty  trio,  who  retired  under  the  pent-house,  and  conversed 
in  low  whispers.  Various  plans  were  proposed  for  putting 
their  victim  to  death  without  alarming  the  neighbourhood. 

"  I  would  advise,''  said  Leof,  "  that  he  be  strangled.  1 
have  a  stout  coil  of  hemp  for  the  nonce  in  my  pouch,  'twould 
make  no  noise." 

"  Ha!  ha!  ha!"  laughed  Cedric,  but  in  an  under  tone; 
"  why,  thou  wouldst  be  playing  at  bell-the-cat,  ay  !  I  am  for 
treating  him  to  sharp  steel,  like  a  soldier.  What  suv  you, 
Sir  Radulf  r" 

"  Thou  art  much  of  my  mind,"  replied  the  knight;  "  but 
we  have  no  time  left  for  parley — here  comes  mine  enemy; 
back  and  conceal  yourselves  awhile,  and  when  1  give  the  word 
rush  out  and  strike." 

The  ruffians  instantly  obeyed,  and  Sir  Radulf,  stepping  for- 
ward, gained  the  small  wooden  bridge  which  crossed  the 
stream  at  that  spot,  and  waited  the  approach  of  his  victim, 

*  This  church,  before  the  great  fire,  stood  in  Turnwheel-lane.  A 
portion  of  its  venerable  walls  still  remains,  and  the  burial  ground  con- 
tains a  few  monuments,  though  of  a  recent  date. 


TRIAL    BY    BATTLE.  191 

who  came  on  at  a  leisure  pace,  followed  by  a  serving  man,  and 
prepared  to  cross  the  brook;  when  the  knight,  throwing  aside 
his  mantle  and  extending  his  arm,  thus  addressed  him — 

"  Geotfery  Aylward,  thou  art  in  my  power — commend  thy 
soul  to  God,  for  this  night  thou  shalt  lie  in  Abraham's 
bosom." 

"  Radulf  Dtiresme,"  replied  the  young  man,  "  why  dost 
thou  seek  to  murther  one  who  never  wronged  thee  ?  Away 
with  thee,  thou  fierce  man,  or  I  will  raise  the  watch." 

"Slave!"  cried  the  knight,  "dost  thou  taunt  me  at  this 
hour  and  in  this  place? — Down,  down  on  thy  knees,  and 
mutter  a  prayer  for  thy  soul's  safe  passage  to  heaven,  for  no 
earthly  power  can  save  thee." 

A  bell  at  this  moment  tolled  out,  and  the  moon  was 
entirely  shrouded  in  a  mass  of  thick  and  murky  clouds. 

"  Hear'st  thou  that  bell?"  cried  Sir  Radulf;  "  it  sounds 
thy  passing  knell.  Die,  presumptuous  boy!''  and,  unsheathing 
his  sword  as  he  spoke,  he  made  a  furious  lunge  at.  his  enemy. 
The  point  struck  the  young  man  on  the  chest,  but  he  wore  a 
shirt  of  steel  under  his  jerkin,  and  the  weapon  was  rendered 
harmless;  nevertheless,  the  thrust  was  given  with  such 
violence,  that  Geoffery  Aylward  staggered  back  several 
paces,  and  would  have  fallen,  but  for  his  serving  man,  who, 
rushing  up,  supported  his  master  with  his  left  arm,  while  with 
his  right  he  drew  his  sword,  and  dealt  the  knight  a  blow  on 
the  head,  which  the  mailed  hood  he  wore  alone  prevented 
being  fatal;  but  Sir  Radulf  instantly  recovered  himself,  and 
shouted  to  his  villanous  associates,  who  immediately  appeared 
and  joined  in  the  strife.  With  such  odds  in  favour  of  the 
assassins,  it  could  not  be  expected  that  the  combat  would  be 
of  long  duration,  for  even  the  giant  strength  of  Sir  Radulf 
was  more  than  a  match  for  ordinary  men,  even  at  that  rude 
period,  when  effeminate  habits  had  not  made  such  inroads 
upon  the  physical  strength  of  the  English  people.  Ere 
a  dozen  blows  had  been  exchanged,  Geotf'ery's  follower  fell 
at  his  feet  with  a  gasp,  and,  rolling  over  the  side  of  the 
bridge,  fell  with  a  heavy  splash  into  the  brook;  at  the  same 
moment  his  master's  sword  was  dashed  from  his  grasp  by  the 
powerful  arm  of  Sir  Radulf:  yet,  ere  the  knight  could  strike 
him  down,  he  grappled  with  his  enemy,  and  seized  him  by 
the  throat,  but  it  was  a  hopeless  struggle;  he  reeled  and  fell, 
pierced  by  the  daggers  of  the  ruffians;  and  Sir  Radulf,  half 
choaked,  shook  himself,  wiped  the  blood  from  his  armour,  and, 
resuming  his  mantle,  bade  the  ruffians  cast  the  body  into  tho 


1P2  TALES  OF  OTHER  DAYS. 

scream.  His  commands  were  obeyed,  and  the  corpse  of  the 
ill-fated  youth  was  thrown  into  the  brook;  the  bubbles  which 
rose  upon  its  surface  sparkled  for  a  moment  in  the  moon- 
beams, then  burst,  and  the  stream  resumed  its  wonted  smooth- 
ness, though  it  swept  over  the  corpse  of  one  of  the  fairest 
youths  in  England. 

****** 

Who  has  not  heard  or  read  of  the  splendid  entry  of 
Richard  the  First  into  London,  after  he  had  been  liberated 
by  his  implacable  foe,  Leopold  of  Austria?  This  event  1ms 
been  so  often  described,  that  any  attempt  of  ours  to  detail 
the  gorgeous  spectacles  with  which  the  loyal  citizens  had 
prepared  to  welcome  him,  would,  we  fear,  be  considered 
presumption  on  our  part;  nevertheless,  we  must  dwell  for  a 
moment  on  the  scene. 

It  was  a  clear  and  beautiful  day  on  which  the  Lion-hearted 
king  made  his  entry  into  London;  and,  as  he  proceeded 
through  the  Chepe,  thousands  of  loyal  voices  greeted  his 
return.  The  trapping?  of  the  horse  he  rode  glittered  with 
the  most  splendid  ornaments,  and  the  dress  of  the  king  him- 
self was  magnificent  in  the  extreme.  He  bowed  gracefully 
to  the  people,  whose  shouts  filled  the  air;  and  his  broad  and 
open  features  were  lit  up  with  rapture  as  lie  looked  on  the 
smiling  countenances  of  thofe  who  surrounded  him.  Troops 
of  armed  citizens  followed  in  his  train;  bills,  pikes,  lances, 
and  rich  armour,  flashed  in  the  morning  sun;  the  windows 
were  humr  with  rich  tapestry  and  cloth  of  gold,  and  the 
beauties  of  London  graced  each  terrace  and  balcony;  indeed, 
so  great  was  the  display  made  by  the  citizens  of  their  wealth, 
that  some  of  the  German  Barons,  uho  had  accompanied  the 
king  to  England,  were  heard  to  say,  that,  had  the  Arch- 
Duke  known  of  it,  he  would  not  have  parted  with  his  pri- 
soner lor  so  moderate  a  runsotn. 

The  procession  moved  on  towards  the  Guildhall,*  where  a 
splendid  repast  was  prepared.  The  king  sat  aloft  on  the 
dais,  surrounded  by  his  nobles.  On  his  right  hand  sat  Henry 
Fitz-Alwaine,  the  mayor,  (the  first  who  bore  that  title  in 
London,)  and  over  against  him,  De  Antiloche  and  Durant, 
the  sheriffs,  in  their  rich  dresses  and  golden  chains.  In  the 
body  of  the  hall  svere  tables  for  the  citizens,  who  were  all 
cUd  in  their  best,  and  many  of  them  in  armour.  In  the  gal- 

•  The  Guildhall  of  London  at  that  time,  we  believe,  stood  on  the 
E.te  of  the  steel-yard  in  Thames-street. 


TRIAL    BY    BATTLE.  103 

leries  were  minstrels  stationed,  whose  fingers  and  lungs  were 
exerted  to  the  utmost  for  the  gratification  of  their  sovereign. 
The  most  costly  wines  were  dealt  out  by  the  generous  Lon- 
doners, who  were  mad  with  joy  for  the  return  of  their  brave 
monarch. 

It  was  during  the  height  of  these  revelries,  that  a  female 
form,  closely  veiled,  and  followed  by  a  young  man  of  a  gallant 
figure,  was  observed  to  enter  the  hall  by  a  side  door.  Onward 
she  came,  unheeding  the  locks  of  surprise  and  astonishment 
which  greeted  her  appearance,  and,  having  passed  the 
row  of  men-at-arms  that  stood  on  the  steps  of  the  dais, 
and  who  made  room  for  her  as  they  would  have  done  for  a 
being  of  another  world,  she  advanced  towards  the  king 

At  this  moment  a  knight  stepped  forward,  and  was  about 
to  interfere,  when  Richard  spoke.  "  Let  her  advance,  Sir 
Radulf,"  said  he. 

"  My  liege,"  replied  the  wily  villain,  "  might  it  not  be  some 
treasonable  design  against  your  grace's  life?" 

"  Tut!  tut!  good  Sir  Radulf,"  exclaimed  the  king,  im- 
patiently, "  shall  we  who  never  shrunk  from  the  cimiters  and 
lances  of  the  Paynim,  tremble  at  the  approach  of  a  timid 
woman?  Come  hither,  damsel;  we  will  do  thee  justice, 
though  in  the  midst  of  wassail." 

"  May  Heaven  reward  your  grace,"  said  the  maiden,  with- 
drawing her  veil,  and  discovering  a  countenance  of  dazzling 
beauty,  though  disfigured  by  weeping.  Then,  kneeling 
down,  she  continued,  in  scarcely  audible  accents,  "  My 
liege,  I  claim  justice  on  a  villain  knight  who  stands  in  your 
highness's  presence — he  has  treacherously  slain  my  only 
brother." 

Sir  Radulf 's  frame  quivered  with  impatience;  but  he 
dared  not  speak,  and  contented  himself  with  scowling  fiercely 
on  the  young  knight  who  had  accompanied  the  maiden  into 
the  hall. 

"  Rise,  gentle  maiden,"  said  the  king,  extending  his  hand 
to  the  suppliant,  "  and  name  the  villain  who  has  robbed  you 
of  your  kinsman." 

"  He  stands  on  your  grace's  right  hand,"  replied  the 
mourner;  "  that  dark  swarthy  one,  whom  men  call  Sir  Radulf 
Duresme — on  him  I  charge  this  deed!" 

Sir  Radulf  sprung  forward  with  a  violence  which  seemed 
as  though  he  would  have  annihilated  his  accuser,  when  he 
was  checked  by  the  king,  who,  in  a  stern  voice,  demanded 
what  he  had  to  say  to  the  charge: 


194          TALES  OF  OTHER  DAYS. 

"  My  liege,"  replied  Dure.«me,  endeavouring  to  stifle  his 
emotion,  "  'tis  a  vile  plot  to  rob  me  of  my  life,  or  my  still 
dearer  good  name.  I  do  deny  the  charge — by  my  knight- 
hood, 'tis  false!  Who  supports  this  accusation?" 

All  pressed  forward  to  hear  the  answer  to  this  demand, 
and  the  hum  of  voices  was  suddenly  hushed,  when  the  young 
knight  before  mentioned  drew  from  his  bosom  a  gold  chain. 

"  Your  grace  shall  hear  the  particulars  of  this  bloody 
story,"  said  he,  addressing  the  king.  "  Last  night,  some  two 
hours  after  moon-rise,  this  lady's  brother  and  my  intimate, 
Master  Geoffrey  Aylward,  was  proceeding  from  his  kins- 
man's house  in  the  East  Cheaping,  attended  only  by  his 
serving-man,  when  they  were  most  savagely  slain  on  their 
way  home.  Their  bodies  were  this  morning  found  at  the 
grating:  under  Dow-Gate,  by  the  sentinel,  who  gave  me  this 
gold  chain,  which  he  found  clutched  in  the  death-grasp  of 
my  murdered  friend;  there  is  a  medal  attached  to  it,  which 
bears  the  arms  of  Sir  Radulf  Duresme;  from  whose  neck  the 
chain  was  doubtless  torn  in  the  deadly  struggle." 

Duresme's  dark  countenance,  upon  his  hearing  this  evidence 
of  his  guilt,  grew  black  as  a  thunder  cloud,  and  then  changed 
to  a  burning  hue,  while  he  fiercely  replied — 

"  This  is  a  well-hatched  conspiracy;  but  am  I  to  be  con- 
demned because,  forsooth,  a  chain  thus  marked  has  been  found 
upon  the  murdered  man?  1  lost  it  in  a  ruffle  at  the  Conduit 
in  the  Chepe,  some  eight  months  since." 

"  'Tis  false!"  said  the  young  knight;  "  thou  hadst  it 
round  thy  neck  but  yesterday — yet,  why  need  I  argue  with 
thee? — Bring  forward  his  partner — here  is  one  of  thy  accom- 
plices." 

As  he  spoke,  a  man-at-arms  led  forward  the  ruffian  Leof, 
strongly  bound. 

"  Ha!  villain !"  cried  Sir  Radulf,  while  every  nerve  quivered 
with  rage,  "  art  thou,  too,  leagued  against  me?" 

"  Ay,  Sir  Knight,"  growled  the  ruffian,  in  reply,  "  you 
deceived  me,  but  I  have  now  my  revenge  by  betraying  thee; 
nay,  never  chafe  it,  I  have  looked  on  a  sterner  face  than 
thine,  and  quailed  not.  Did  you  not  tell  us  that  the  men  we 
slew  were  Normans?  else  should  not  my  dagger  have  been 
drawn  against  them." 

"  Peace,  slave!"  said  the  king,  interrupting  Leof;  "  what 
ho!  a  guard  there! — take  this  villain  to  the  Chepe,  and  let  him 
be  hung  forthwith.  And  thou,  Sir  Radulf,  what  hast  thou  to 
•ay  to  this  charge  ?" 


TRIAL    BY    BATTLE.  195 

"  My  liege,"  replied  Dnresme,  kneeling  nefore  Ihe  king, 
"I  am  innocent,  so  help  rne  Heaven  and  St.  George!  and  I 
claim  the  combat  against  any  knight  who  shall  gainsay  me.** 
He  rose  as  he  spoke,  and,  unfastening  the  jewelled  clasp  which 
confined  his  hood  at  the  throat,  drew  it  from  his  head,  and 
threw  it  on  the  floor,  crying  out,  in  a  voice  of  thunder, 
"  There  is  my  gage!"* 

All  eyes  were  turned  on  the  young  knight  who  had  made 
the  accusation;  while  he,  striding  forward,  flung  down  his 
hood,  seized  the  hand  of  Sir  Radulf,  and,  in  a  firm  and 
solemn  tone,  using  the  customary  forms  upon  those  occasions, 
said — 

"  Radulf  Dure-me,  whom  I  hold  by  the  hand,  I  do  here 
charge  thee  that  thou  hast  treacherously  slain  my  dear  friend, 
Geoffrey  Aylward,  and  this  I  am  ready  to  maintain  by  my 
body  as  a  lawful  man  and  a  true  knight:  and,  that  my  appeal 
is  true,  so  help  me  God  and  his  saints !" 

He  wrung  the  hand  of  Duresme  as  he  spoke,  and  flung  it 
from  him  in  disdain;  the  guilty  knight  smiled  darkly,  and, 
taking  the  hand  of  his  accuser,  said — 

"  Wilfred  of  Wallingford,  xvhom  I  hold  by  the  hand,  I  do 
here  charge  thee  that  thou  hast  lied  in  thr  throat;  for  that  I 
did  not  slay  thy  friend,  as  thou  hast  alleged;  and  this  I  am 
ready  to  aver  by  my  body  as  a  true  knight !" 

"  'Tis  well,"  said  the  king;  "  sheriffs,  see  that  they  be 
delivered  into  the  custody  of  our  marshal;  and  let  lists 
be  prepared  for  the  combat  in  Smilhfield,  by  sunrise  to- 
morrow." 

The  sheriffs  left  the  hall,  having  in  custody  the  two  knights, 
whose  looks  indicated  their  impatience  at  the  delay,  but  not 
until  Wilfred  of  Wallingford  found  means  to  speak  a  few 
words  of  comfort  to  Agnes,  who  dreaded  the  issue  of  his 
encounter  with  the  giant  Sir  Radulf. 

"  We  would  fain  know  what  has  caused  this  feud.,"  said  the 
king  to  Fitz-Alwaine;  "  we  thought  our  subjects  had  fur- 
gotten  their  differences,  and  that  the  Norman  and  Saxon 
were  brothers." 

"  Mv  liege,  I  grieve  to  say  'tis  not  so,"  replied  the  mayor, 
with  great  reverence:  "  we  have  had  many  sad  frays  since 

*  It  appears  by  Hollinshed  and  other  old  chroniclers,   that  the 
gauntlet  was  not  the  only  gage  of  battle.     When  a  knight  was  armed 
he  cast  down  his  glove,  but  otherwise  the  hood  was  used ;  and  the  hat 
is  to  this  day  the  gage  of  pugilists- 
10 


J96  TALES    OF    OTHER    I>AY5. 

TOUT  grace  left  England.  On  Lammas-day  there  were  six 
citizens  slain  in  a  ruffle  at  the  Conduit  at  the  Chepe.  Your 
grace  has  heard,  too,  of  the  arch-traitor,  Fitz  Osbert,  whom 
we  took  in  the  church  of  St.  Mary-le-Bow;  but  here  comes 
De  Antiloche  and  Durant,  who  can,  perhaps,  expound  this 
matter  unto  your  grace." 

As  he  spoke,  the  sheriffs  approached,  and  resumed  their 
seats;  when,  in  answer  to  the  king's  inquiries,  De  Antiloche 
replied — 

"  My  liege,"  said  he,  "  yon  dark  and  stalwart  knight  is,  as 
I  am  told,  smitten  with  the  beauty  of  Mistress  Agnes  Meryl, 
whom  he  hath  assailed  with  many  pieces  of  gallantry,  but 
without  avail.  'Tis  said  she  looks  with  a  more  kindly  eye 
upon  the  fair-haired  knight,  Sir  Wilfred  of  Wallingford,  who 
was  a  bosom  friend  of  the  murdered  gentleman.  Sir  Radulf 
Duresme  thought  this  preference  was  shown  at  the  -persuasion 
of  her  brother,  and  has  often  been  heard  to  mutter  revenge 
against  the  young  Saxon,  (whom  God  assoilzie!)  Sir  Radulf 
was  seen  last  night  by  the  watch,  hastening  from  the  spot 
where  the  murder  was  committed — pray  Heaven  he  may 
clear  himself  of  this  charge!" 

"  Amen!"  said  the  king;  "we  would  not,  for  the  brightest 
jewel  in  our  crown,  that  Duresme  be  the  vanquished.  We 
have  known  him  as  a  brave  knight — he  did  noble  work  by 
our  side  upon  the  Paynim  at  Ascalon.  They  shall  have  a 
fair  field — and  may  God  defend  the  right!" 

Nothing  further  occurred  to  disturb  the  harmony  of  that 
evening,  and  it  was  late  before  the  wassailers  quitted  the 
festive  board,  and  sought  their  various  homes,  many  of  them, 
to  all  appearance,  totally  disqualified  for  business  on  the 
following  day,  though  some  were  sober  enough  to  bet  upon 
the  issue  of  the  approaching  combat. 

"  I'll  wager  a  butt  of  Malvoisey,"  said  Ralph  de  Morden, 
the  rich  mercer  of  the  Westcheap,  to  his  neighbour  and  gos- 
sip, as  they  reeled  home.  "  Ay,  a  butt  of  the  best,  I'll  wager 
that  Sir  Radulf  come  off  unhurt.  I  have  heard  many  say 
that  he  fought  like  a  Sampson  at  the  taking  of  Ascalon, 
where  he  slew  nine  Saracens  with  the  good  sword  he  now 
wears." 

"  He  is  a  doughty  knight,  in  good  sooth,"  replied  the  other, 
"  but  Master  Walter  is  a  man  of  strong  frame;  and,  though 
more  fair  and  comely  than  Duresme,  he  hath  thews  and 
sinews  that  are  well  nigh  a  match  for  his  adversary  " 

"Pish!"  ejaculated  a  \~oice.  so  near  that  it  made  the  two 


TRIAL    BY    BATTLE.  197 

citizens  start,  and  a  man  of  spare  habit  advanced  from  behind 
them.  "  Ye  talk  folly,  goodman  merchant,"  said  he,  address- 
ing the  one  who  had  thus  spoken,  "  Sir  Radulf,  my  master, 
is  a  match  for  two  such  springalds  as  Wilfred  of  Walling- 
ford." 

"  I  cry  your  mercy,  Master  Argentine,"  said  the  first  citizen, 
"  and  will  allow  that  you,  being  a  man  of  war,  and  a  follower 
of  the  stout  knight  we  speak  of,  are  better  able  to  judge  of 
his  prowess  than  us  merchants;  though,  trust  me,  I  have  seen 
some  knightly  service  done  ere  now." 

"  That  may  be,  citizen  Morden,"  replied  the  follower, 
"  but  ye  have  not  seen  the  fields  that  I  have  looked  over. 
There  are  men  of  might  among  the  Paynims,  and,  beshrew 
me  if  they  deal  not  in  hard  knocks,  as  my  sconce  hath  ere 
now  testified.  By  the  mass,  their  maces  make  helm  and 
burgonet  ring  like  a  kettle  in  a  tinker's  hand,  and  their 
arrows  are  of  the  sharpest!" 

"  I  doubt  it  not,  Master  Argentine,"  said  the  merchant; 
"  but,  may  I  ask  what  brings  ye  into  Viutry  Ward  at  this 
hour,  when  Sir  Radulf  dwells  nigh  unto  ^loor-Gate:'" 

"  I  am  going  to  Kynulph,  the  armourer's  house  hard  by 
here;  he  has  a  hood  ef  mail  to  mend  for  our  knight,  and  I 
must  bear  it  home  and  get  it  in  order  for  the  combat  to- 
morrow. Give  you  good  even,  my  masters." 

He  turned  on  his  heel  as  he  spoke,  and,  striding  down 
Thames-street,  entered  a  dark  alley  which  led  to  the  river 
side.  Here  dwelt  Kynulph  the  Saxon;  and  the  red  glare 
seen  through  the  clefts  of  the  closed  door,  with  the  heavy 
ring  of  the  anvil,  told  that  his  labours  had  not  yet  ceased. 
Argentine  pushed  open  the  door,  and  entered  the  smithy, 
where  he  found  the  Saxon  and  two  of  his  men  busily  em- 
ployed on  a  suit  of  harness.  The  appearance  of  Kynulph 
was  that  of  a  Cyclops;  his  frame  and  his  height  were  per- 
fectly herculean,  and  the  expression  of  his  countenance  had 
not  been  improved  by  the  loss  of  an  eye,  which  had  been 
struck  out  in  one  of  the  frequent  frays  between  the  Saxon* 
and  their  still  inveterate  foes,  the  Normans.  Kynulpl 
under  an  assumed  appearance  of  reckless  boldness,  disguise  1 
the  combined  qualities  of  craft  and  dissimulation:  his  hatred 
to  the  Normans  was  the  most  deeply-rooted,  and  towards  So, 
Radulf  Duresme  he  nourished  the  most  implacable  revenge, 
for  some  injuries,  real  or  supposed,  which  he  had  inflicted  on 
his  countrymen.  It  was  not,  then,  with  pleasurable  feelingi 
that  he  beheld  Argentine;  but,  dressing  his  coarse  and  dingy 
s  2 


198  TALES  OF  OTHER  DAYS. 

features  in  a  smile,  he  extended  his  huge  paw  to  his  visitor, 
\vno  returned  the  grasp  with  which  he  was  greeted,  though 
with  not  the  same  decree  of  pressure,  which  could  be  com- 
pared only  to  that  of  the  armourer's  own  vice.  Argentine 
grinned  with  pain  under  the  salute,  but  courtesy  forbade  him 
to  complain;  and,  after  his  palm  had  been  released,  he 
inquired  for  the  hood  of  mail. 

"  Ye  might  have  had  it  at  even-song  yesterday,  an'  ye  had 
liked,"  said  the  armourer,  taking  it  from  a  chest. 

"  Have  ye  tempered  it  well,  gossip?"  inquired  Argentine. 

"  Ay,"  replied  the  other,  "  it  is  tempered  bravely;  Sir 
Radtilf  will  need  no  other." 

This  was  uttered  in  a  peculiar  tone,  and  was  noticed  by 
Argentine. 

"  What  mean  ye,  gossip?"  said  he. 

"  I  mean,"  replied  the  other,  "  that  it  will  bear  thy  master 
through  twenty  battles." 

"  "Tis  well;  and  now  I  must  away  and  get  all  in  order  for 
to-morrow.  Good  even,  Master  Kynulph." 

And,  so  saying,  he  quitted  the  smithy  with  the  head-piece, 
little  dreaming  that,  like  another  Lychas,  he  was  carrying  the 
means  of  the  knight's  probable  destruction. 

"  Fool,  thou  art  deceived  as  well  as  thy  master,"  said  the 
armourer,  fastening  the  door  after  him — "  that  hood  is  the 
last  he  will  wear:  he  will  need  no  other — 'twill  not  bear  the 
blow  of  a  churl's  quarter-staff:  the  first  stroke  of  a  mace  or  a 
pole-axe  will  shiver  it  to  pieces." 

"  Ha!  ha!  ha!"  laughed  his  two  men,  "  how  the  Norman 
villains  will  be  humbled  when  they  see  their  doughty  knight's 
scull  beaten  in  by  our  brave  countryman." 

"  Whist! — some  one  may  be  abroad,"  said  Kynulph. 
"  Would  that  I  could  let  Wilfred  of  Wallingford  know  where 
to  strike  his  enemy:  that  steel  is  so  tempered,  that  a  child 
might  dash  it  to  pieces." 

"  I  marvel  whether  he  would  take  the  vantage  of  Duresme, 
an'  he  knew  it,"  said  Gurth,  one  of  the  men;  "  for  he  hath 
such  notions  of  honour  and  honesty,  that,  beshrew  me  if  he 
would  play  false,  even  with  a  Norman." 

"  Thou  sayest  true,"  replied  the  armourer;  "  and  as  it  is, 
we  had  better  leave  it  to  chance;  for  if  they  come  to  hard 
blows,  it  will  be  all  over  with  RadulC  Duresme  ere  you  could 
say  an  Ave  or  a  Pater  Noster." 

******* 

Before  morning  dawn  workmen  were  employed  in  prepar- 


TRIAL    BY    BATTLE.  190 

ing  the  lists  for  the  approaching  combat,  and,  ere  the  sun  s 
beams  had  gilded  the  spires  and  towers  of  London,  thousands 
were  on  the  spot,  eager  to  witness  the  fight.  The  king  shortly 
appeared,  and,  as  the  east  began  to  brighten,  all  was  in 
readiness.  At  the  appointed  hour,  Wilfred  of  Wallingford's 
trumpet  sounded,  and  shortly  after,  the  usual  ceremony  hav- 
ing been  gone  through,  that  champion  entered  the  lists  armed 
at  all  points  and  mounted  on  a  strong  but  graceful  war-horse. 
His  challenge  having  been  answered,  Sir  Kadulf  Duresme 
appeared,  and,  after  the  customary  charge,  the  marshals 
delivered  them  their  lances.  A  breathless  silence  pervaded 
the  assembled  multitude  as  the  combatants  reined  back  their 
snorting  steeds,  to  take  full  room  for  their  career;  and,  while 
the  Normans  openly  proclaimed  their  confidence  in  their 
champion,  the  Saxons  offered  up  secret  and  fervent  prayers 
for  the  success  of  theirs. 

At  length,  the  signal  was  given — the  trumpets  brayed 
loudly,  and,  with  levelled  lances,  the  combatants  tiew  to  meet 
each  other:  they  encountered  about  mid-way,  and,  Wilfred 
of  Wallingford's  horse  stumbling  at  that  moment,  his  aim  was 
lost,  and  the  lance  of  the  Norman  hurled  him  to  the  ground 
with  tremendous  violence.  Here  the  heralds  interposed,  and 
raised  the  fallen  champion  from  the  ground.  His  hauberk  of 
proof  had  protected  him;  and,  after  draining  a  bowl  of  wiue, 
he  stood  unhurt,  arid  ready  to  renew  the  combat. 

"  Saxon,"  said  Sir  Kadulf,  who  still  kept  on  horseback, 
"  the  lance  is  treacherous  to  thee — let  us  try  the  battle  on 
foot." 

"  Agreed,"  said  Walter 

Duresme  leapt  from  his  horse  and  unsheathed  his  sword; 
the  heralds  retired,  and  the  horses  were  led  away,  when  the 
combat  was  renewed  with  great  furv.  Although  nature  had 
given  a  powerful  frame  to  the  Saxon  champion,  yet  this 
would  have  availed  him  but  little,  for  Sir  Radulf's  strength 
was,  as  we  before  said,  much  greater  than  that  of  ordinary 
men;  Walter  was,  therefore,  obliged  to  observe  the  utmost 
caution,  for  the  blows  of  his  adversary  were  showered  in 
tremendous  succession-,  but  they  were  all  parried,  and 
Duresme,  losing  breath  by  the  great  exertion  he  had  made, 
desisted  for  a  moment,  and  contented  himself  with  warding 
otf  the  blows  aimed  .it  him;  for  Wilfred  of  VVallingf'ord  did 
not  neglect  to  avail  himself  of  the  opportunity,  and  dealt  his 
•trokes  with  great  skill  and  force.  In  the  midst  of  the 


200  TALES  OF  OTHER  DAYS. 

combat,  the  sword  of  Duresme  broke  at  the  hilt,  and  he  wa* 
left  at  the  mercy  of  his  antagonist. 

"  Strike,  Saxon,"  said  the  Norman,  looking  sternly  upon 
him — "  Radulf  Duresme  asks  not  mercy  at  thy  hands." 

"  Nay,"  replied  Walter,  "  I  scorn  such  vantage,  and  will 
continue  the  fight  with  mace  or  pole-axe,  as  the  other  wea- 
pons have  failed." 

Duresrne's  dark  countenance  brightened  as  he  heard  tliis 
proposal,  for  it  offered  him  an  advantage,  the  mace  being  a 
weapon  which  his  great  strength  so  admirably  qualified  him 
to  wield;  he  therefore  replied  eagerly — 

"  Well,  as  ye  list;"  then  speaking  to  the  soldiers,  "  a  mace 
for  myself  and  the  Saxon."  They  were  brought  and  de- 
livered to  them. 

They  took  their  stand  opposite  to  each  other,  at  about 
twelve  yards  distant,  with  flashing  eyes  and  lowered  brows. 
On  the  signal  being  given,  each  advanced,  Duresme  flourish- 
ing the  ponderous  weapon  round  his  head,  while  Wilfred, 
keeping  his  left  arm  across  his  breast,  carried  his  mace  in  his 
right  hand,  resting  it  on  his  shoulder.  They  stood  for 
several  moments,  regarding  each  other  w  ith  fixed  looks:  each 
apparently  unwilling  to  strike  the  first  blow.  At  length  the 
Norman's  huge  weapon  descended  with  frightful  rapidity,  and 
threatened  destruction  to  his  enemy.  The  blow  would  have 
felled  a  giant,  had  it  taken  effect;  but  it  was  avoided  by 
Wilfred  of  Wallingford,  who,  leaping  on  one  side,  escaped 
the  danger.  A  loud  shout  broke  from  the  multitude  on  wit- 
nessing this  dexterous  shift,  which  irritated  the  choleric 
Norman,  who  was,  perhaps,  besides,  disconcerted  at  missing 
his  aim.  It  cost  him  his  life;  for  Wilfred,  springing  forward, 
smote  him  on  the  head  witn  such  violence,  that  his  hood  of 
mail  was  shivered  to  pieces,  and  his  scull  was  crushed  like  an 
egg-shell! — He  fell  to  the  ground  as  if  struck  bv  a  thunder- 
bolt. 

Immediately  the  lists  were  broken  in,  in  spite  of  the  threats 
and  blows  of  the  men-at-arms  who  kept  the  field;  and  all 
ranks  crowded  round  the  fallen  champion,  whose  head  was 
now  supported  on  the  knee  of  his  follower,  Argentine.  His 
face  presented  a  hideous  spectacle;  the  forehead  was  com- 
pletely destroyed,  and  a  stream  of  blood  flowed  in  such  pro- 
fusion that  every  feature  was  disguised.  A  monk  pushed  his 
way  through  the  crowd,  crucifix  in  hand,  and  knelt  by  the 
side  of  the  dying  man. 


TRIAL    BY    BATTLE.  201 

"  Radulf  Duresme,"  said  he,  "  look  on  this  blessed  emblem 
of  redemption,  and  say  after  me" — He  was  about  to  repeat 
the  Latin  prayer  for  sinners  in  extremis,  when  he  was  rudely 
interrupted  by  Argentine. 

"  He  hears  thee  not,  priest,"  said  the  follower,  "  he  is  gone 
— speak,  Sir  Radulf;  my  master,  how  is't  with  theeV" 

At  that  moment  the  dying  man's  mailed  hands  were  raised 
as  if  in  prayer,  but  it  was  only  for  a  moment;  they  fell  lifeless 
to  the  ground — his  head  bowed — and  Radulf  Duresme  slept 
with  his  fathers! 

Without  dwelling  on  the  customary  mutilation  of  the  body 
of  the  vanquished,  we  have  only  to  add,  that  ere  long, 
Wilfred  of  Wallingford  became  the  husband  of  his  Agnes; 
and,  as  courage  was  then  the  greatest  recommendation  at 
court,  he  did  not  long  remain  unnoticed  by  the  lion-hearted 
monarch,  who  advanced  him  to  great  favour  and  preferment. 


THE  CASTLE  OF  STAUFFENBERG. 

A    LEGEND    OF    THE    RHINE. 

"  Valour  was  his,  and  beauty  dwelt  with  her. 
If  she  loved  rashly,  her  life  paid  for  wrong — 
A  heavy  price  must  all  pay  who  thus  err, 
In  some  shape ;  let  none  think  to  fly  the  danger, 
For,  soon  or  late,  Love  is  his  own  avenger." 

BYRON. 

THE  Rhine  can  boast  of  more  really  romantic  beauty  than 
any  other  river  in  Europe,  and  many  of  the  halls  and  castles 
which,  together  with  the  deeds  of  their  rude  possessors,  have 
been  commemorated  in  numberless  works  of  fiction,  still  re- 
main to  add  interest  and  grandeur  to  its  beautiful  banks.  The 
reckless  conduct  of  the  owners  of  these  castles  was  conti- 
nually a  subject  of  complaint,  for  they  scrupled  not  to  attack 
and  plunder  travellers,  when  war  did  not  allow  them  a  chance 
of  obtaining  booty  in  another  way.  These  outrages,  at 
length,  roused  the  indignation  of  the  emperor,  and  some  of 
the  leaders  of  those  desperate  bands  paid  the  forfeit  of  their 
temerity  with  their  lives. 

Towards  the  close  of  the  fiP  century,  there  lived 


202  TALES  OF  OTHER  DAYS. 

near  to  the  town  of  Ober-Wessel,  a  German  baron,  named 
Ludolf  Von  Stauffenbersr,  who,  from  the  part  he  had  taken 
with  the  duke  of  Alva,  in  the  sanguinary  wars  of  Inlanders, 
had  rendered  himself  exceedingly  obnoxious  to  his  neigh- 
bours. At  the  time  our  tale  commences,  he  had  returned 
home,  satiated  with  plunder  and  bloodshed,  and  accompanied 
by  a  lady  of  most  exquisite  beauty,  whom  he  had  wedded 
while  absent.  She  was  the  daughter  of  a  Spanish  captain  of 
foot,  and  had  accompanied  her  father  into  Flanders,  where 
the  baron  first  saw  her.  Her  beauty  made  a  strong  im- 
pression on  the  iron  heart  of  her  admirer,  who  demanded 
her  hand  of  her  father.  The  Spaniard  considered  the  match 
as  too  advantageous  to  be  slighted;  and,  though  his  daughter 
shrunk  from  it,  he  persisted  in  his  determination  that  she 
should  become  the  bride  of  the  baron.  Resistance  to  this 
mandate  was  vain;  their  nuptials  were  solemnized  imme- 
diately, and  Von  Stautfenberg  returned  to  his  castle  on  the 
Rhine. 

During  the  first  few  weeks,  the  castle  was  a  scene  of 
gaiety  and  splendour;  but  it  shortly  resumed  its  usual  appear- 
ance, and  its  lovely  mistress  was  often  left  to  meditate  on  her 
lonely  situation,  while  her  stern  lord  was  engaged  in  the  chase, 
or  carousing  with  the  neighbouring  barons. 

The  castle  was  a  stupendous  and  gloomy  structure,  and  its 
dark  shadows  were  reflected  in  the  clear  waters  of  the  Rhine. 
It  stood  on  an  inaccessible  rock,  and,  before  the  invention  of 
artillery,  was  considered  impregnable.  Such  was  the  place 
to  which  Von  Stauffenberg  brought  his  beautiful  bride.  But 
the  dull  abode  of  her  lord  was  not  her  only  cause  of  sorrow. 
There  was  one  to  whom  she  had  sworn  eternal  love  and  con- 
stancy— one  who  had  loved  her 'with  all  the  warmth  of  early- 
passion — whom  she  still  hoped  was  ignorant  of  her  marriage. 
But  it  was  a  vain  hope:  the  news  had  reached  the  ears  of 
Juan  Gonzales,  whose  grief  may  be  more  readily  imagined 
than  described. 

It  was  on  a  lovely  evening  in  the  month  of  June,  that  two 
horsemen  were  observed  proceeding  along  the  banks  of  the 
Rhine,  in  the  direction  of  Ober-Wessel.  The  rich  half 
armour  of  the  foremost  rider,  consisting  of  back  and  breast, 
with  the  pauldrons  arid  vambraces,  and  the  jack  boots  of 
tough  and  pliant  leather,  reaching  to  the  middle  of  the  thigh, 
showed  that  the  wearer  was  above  tne  rank  of  an  ordinary 
trooper;  and  the  remains  of  a  red  plume,  which  waved  in 
his  dinted  burgonet,  plainly  indicated  that  he  had  lately  been 


THE  tASiLL  OF  STALF1  ENBERG.        203 

where  blows  had  fallen  thick  and  fast.  The  second  horse- 
man had  the  appearance  of  a  servant  or  follower,  and,  though 
he  appeared  weary  from  hard  travelling,  his  countenance 
partook  not  of  that  deep  melancholy  which  was  stamped 
upon  his  master's,  whose  hands  scarce  held  the  bridle  of  his 
jaded  steed,  but  rested  heavily  on  the  saddle  bow,  while  the 
tired  animal  was  suffered  to  proceed  at  its  own  pace  along 
the  rugged  road.  At  length  a  sudden  turn  brought  them  iu 
view  of  the  town;  when  the  foremost  rider,  apparently  with 
an  effort  to  shake  off  his  melancholy,  plunged  his  spurs  into 
his  horse's  flanks,  and  pushed  forward  with  a  rapid  pace. 
The  appearance  of  an  armed  stranger  was  a  circumstance 
that  attracted  but  little  observation  in  those  unsettled 
times,  so  that  the  travellers,  after  replying  to  a  few  ques- 
tions, entered  the  town  without  difficulty,  and  repaired  to 
one  of  the  best  inns  it  afforded,  where  they  took  up  their 
abode. 

It  was  not  long,  however,  before  the  conduct  of  the 
strangers  was  watched.  The  means  they  had  taken  to  screen 
themselves  from  observation,  attracted  the  attention  of  the 
townspeople,  and  many  uncharitable  hints  were  given  to  the 
host  regarding  his  guests.  Their  outgoings  and  their 
ingoings  were  narrowly  watched,  for  it  was  not  until  the 
evening  had  advanced  that  they  ever  left  the  inn,  and  they 
were  then  not  long  absent.  Some  gossips  set  them  down  as 
part  of  a  gang  of  banditti,  while  others  were  inclined  to 
think  them  spies;  but  many  went  still  farther,  and  judged, 
from  their  swarthy  complexions,  that  they  were  no  others 
than  his  Satanic  Majesty  and  his  prime  minister;  indeed,  so 
firmly  persuaded  were  the  latter  that  the  strangers  were  not 
of  this  world,  that  as  they  rode  down  the  street,  suspicious 
glances  were  cast  on  either  side  of  their  steeds,  no  doubt  in 
the  hope  of  discovering  a  cloven  foot,  or  some  other  such 
devilish  appendage.  But  these  honest  citizens  were  doomed 
to  experience  disappointment,  and  nothing  appeared  to  warrant 
their  uncharitable  suspicions. 

Since  the  arrival  of  the  strangers,  they  had  never  held 
communion  with  any  of  the  townspeople,  but,  on  the  con- 
trary, appeared  to  shun  observation  as  much  as  possible. 
It  therefore  occasioned  some  surpuse,  when  one  evening  a 
horseman,  who  was  known  to  be  one  of  the  retainers  of  the 
Baron  Von  Stauffeuberg,  arrived  at  the  inn,  and  inquired  for 
the  stranger  knight.  The  messenger  was  immediately  shown 


204  TALES  OF  OTHER  DAYS. 

into  an  apartment  where  the  knight  sat;  and,  after  closing  the 
door,  he  inquired,  in  a  low  gruff'  voice — 

"  Is  your  name  Juan  Gonzales,  senor?" 

"  Ay,"  was  the  reply;  "  what  wouldst  thou  have  with 
me?" 

The  grisly  messenger  drew  from  his  belt  a  long  petrionel, 
and,  with  the  ramrod,  took  out  the  charge,  from  which  he 
selected  a  small  piece  of  paper  crumpled  up,  as  though  used 
for  the  wadding.  This  motion  somewhat  startled  the  knight, 
who  had  already  grasped  the  handle  of  his  sword,  when  the 
messenger,  waving  his  hand,  presented  the  paper. 

"  Fear  not,"  said  he;  "here  is  a  billet  from  her  ye  have 
long  sought — quick,  read  it,  and  let  me  have  your  answer; 
for  my  head  will  be  forfeit  if  the  baron  should  discover  my 
absence,  and  suspect." 

With  hands  quivering  with  emotion,  the  knight  spread  the 
paper,  and,  as  he  read  its  contents,  the  cold  drops  started  on 
his  forehead,  and  his  countenance  assumed  a  livid  hue. 
The  messenger  beheld  it — a  devilish  smile  played  for  a 
moment  upon  his  meagre  countenance,  and  then  settled  down 
into  a  low  and  repulsive  scowl.  The  knight  then  penned  a 
few  lines,  and,  putting  the  paper  into  the  hands  of  the  mes- 
senger, together  with  several  gold  pieces,  said — 

"  Carry  this,  good  fellow,  to  thy  mistress,  and  say  I  will  be 
punctual." 

The  messenger  took  the  paper,  and,  bowing,  left  the 
room.  After  draining  a  glass  of  Geneva,  he  mounted 
his  horse,  and  in  half  an  hour  stood  in  the  presence  of  Von 
Stauffenberg. 

"  Well,  Fritz,"  said  the  baron,  "  what  success  hast  had?" 

Fritz  -unsheathed  his  long  rapier,  and  held  it  up — it  was 
covered  with  blood. 

"  Ha!"  cried  the  baron,  "  wert  thou  forced  to  use  cold 
iron  ?" 

"  Nothing  less!  My  lady's  messenger  was  firm,  and  drew 
upon  me — but  he'll  tilt  no  more,  1  trow." 

"  Hast  thou  slain  him?" 

"  Ay." 

"  Where  is  the  body  bestowed?" 

"  In  the  bed  of  the  river — a  fragment  of  a  rock  sunk  it 
deep  enough." 

"  And  the  gallant — where  is  he?" 

"  At  Ober-Wessel — here  is  his  billet  in  reply." 


THE    CASTLE    OF    Si'AUFFE N  BERG.  ^05 

The  baron  took  the  paper,  and  his  eye  glanced  hastily  over 
the  contents. 

"  'Tis  well,"  said  he,  with  an  air  of  fiendish  triumph;  "  but 
how  shall  it  be  delivered  ?" 

"  Leave  it  to  me,  my  lord,"  said  Fritz;  "  'twill  be  easy  to 
say  that  Leopold  gave  it  me,  with  strict  orders  to  deliver  it  to 
none  but  my  lady." 

"  Good — here  is  something  for  thy  faithful  services,"  said 
the  baron,  placing  a  purse  heavily  charged  into  the  hand  of 
Fritz — "  go  and  deliver  the  billet." 

•  •**** 

The  evening  came.  The  Baroness  Von  Stauflenberg  sat 
in  her  chamber  a  prey  to  torturing  suspense:  she  looked 
from  her  latticed  window  down  on  the  clear  stream,  that 
cashed  the  rock,  on  which  the  castle  stood.  The  sun  was 
fast  descending,  but  the  swallows  still  skimmed  over  the 
surface  of  the  waters,  and  the  finny  tribe  displayed  their 
golden  scales  as  they  jumped  to  seize  the  sportive  gadflies 
that  danced  within  their  reach.  The  stream  flowed  on 
unruffled,  save  when  at  times  the  coot  or  teal  dived  beneath 
its  surface.  The  song  of  the  fisherman  was  heard  as  he 
rowed  home,  and  the  eagle  winged  her  flight  through  the 
clear  blue  space,  and  sought  her  resting  place  among  the 
highest  rocks  that  bordered  the  Rhine. 

The  baroness  looked  on  the  scene — how  beautiful! — how 
tranquil! — But  a  fierce  war  raged  in  her  bosom,  which 
heaved  like  a  billow.  She  wept  not — her  hand  pressed  her 
burning  brow,  which  throbbed  wildly  against  her  long  and 
alabaster  fingers,  but  no  tears  relieved  her  mind's  anguish. 
She  gazed  long  and  intently  on  the  stream,  when  a  small  boat 
was  seen  approaching.  A  signal  from  the  baroness  was 
answered,  and  the  boat' advanced  rapidly.  She  sank  on  her 
seat,  overpowered  with  emotions.  She  had  planned  the 
meeting  she  now  dreaded,  at  great  hazard;  and  little  wot  she 
of  the  gathering  storm. 

The  baron  had  become  acquainted  with  the  arrival  of 
Juan  at  Ober-Wessel — their  messages  had  been  observed, 
and  Fritz  was  employed  to  intercept  the  letter  which 
appointed  the  meeting.  He  had  done  this,  though  not  with- 
out  taking  the  life  of  the  messenger;  and  the  baroness  was 
deceived  by  the  excuse  which  the  ruffian  made  for  her  page's 
absence. 

In  the  side  of  the  rock  on  which  the  castle  stood  was  a 
cave,  which  communicated  with  a  subterraneous  passage, 


200  TALES  OF  OTHER  DAYS. 

leading  to  the  chamber  of  the  baroness.  Juan  arrived  at  ii, 
and,  entering  the  passage  described  in  the  baroness's  letter, 
ascended  the  narrow  stairs  which  ran  between  the  \va.l, 
passed  through  the  panel  which  she  had  already  drawn  aside. 
and  stood  before  his  mistress.  Who  shall  describe  their 
meeting? — She  rose  from  her  seat — tottered  towards  him, 
ana  sank  senseless  into  his  arms. 

"  Inez,"  said  the  cavalier,  in  a  half  stifled  voice,  "  look  up, 
I  conjure  thee." 

She  seemed  to  revive  at  the  sound  of  his  voice,  and  opened 
her  eyes.  A  burst  of  bitter  tears  came  to  her  relief,  and 
roused  her  to  a  state  of  consciousness. 

"  Oh!  Juan,"  she  said,  "do  not  upbraid  me my  father!" 

At  the  same  instant  a  sound  as  of  cautious  footsteps  was 
heard  near  the  panel — "Ah!  we  are  lost,"  faintly  shrieked 
the  wretched  lady — :'  Fly,  Juan,  fly!" 

The  cavalier  flew  to  the  door  of  the  chamber — it  was 
secured! — he  turned  to  the  panel,  and  was  about  to  enter  the 
recess,  when  the  gaunt  form  of  Ludolph  Von  Stauffenberg 
oarred  the  entrance! 

The  baroness  threw  herself  at  the  feet  of  her  lord,  and 
clasped  his  knees,  but  her  tongue  denied  its  office. 

"  Away,  woman !"  said  the  baron,  calmly,  spurning  her 
from  him,  and  she  fell  heavily  on  the  floor  of  the  chamber. 

"  Monster!"  cried  the  cavalier,  unsheathing  his  sword — 
but  at  that  moment  the  baron  discharged  a  pistol  full  in  the 
face  of  his  rival.  The  deadly  shot  passed  through  his  brain, 
and  the  cavalier,  springing  convulsively  from  the  floor,  fell 
at  the  feet  of  Von  Stauffenberg,  a  disfigured  corpse. 

It  was  some  time  before  the  smoke  which  filled  the 
chamber  cleared  away,  when  the  baron  strode  forward  and 
fixedly  regarded,  for  some  moments,  the  body  of  his  foe. 
So  intently  was  he  engaged,  that  he  forgot  for  awhile 
his  wretched  partner;  when,  on  looking  round,  she  was  no- 
where to  be  seen.  He  attempted  to  pass  out  by  the  door 
of  the  chamber;  but  it  was  still  fastened  on  the  outside,  as 
he  had  directed.  He  drew  aside  the  tapestry  which  covered 
the  walls,  but  she  had  not  concealed  herself;  when  on  a 
sudden  the  horrid  truth  flashed  across  his  brain.  He  flew  to 
the  window  and  looked  down.  There,  on  a  rock,  whitened 
with  age,  lay  the  body  of  the  baroness.  He  gazed  with 
fallen  jaw  and  dister.ueu  eye-oalis  on  the  dreadful  spectacle. 
She  moved — she  waved  her  arm — as  if  in  token  of  for- 
giveness— her  eyes  were  once  turned  on  her  fierce  lord,  and 
then  closed  for  OVPT! 


THE    IsROTHEKS.  207 


THE  BROTHERS. 

A    TALE    OF    LONDON    BRIDGE. 

Tanta  est  discordia  fratrum. 

OVID. 

Curse  on  the  wretch  a  thousand  fold, 
Who  barters  brotherhood  for  gold ! 

IT  will  scarcely  be  necessary  to  describe  the  appearance  of 
London  Bridge  during  the  reign  of  the  first  James,  or  to 
inform  the  reader  that  it  supported  many  houses  and  shops 
tenanted  by  the  wealthy  citizens.  It  is  well  known  that 
many  mills  were  worked  by  the  swift  current  which  passed 
beneath  its  arches,  and  that  the  dwellings  projected  in  a 
terrific  manner  over  the  sides.  This,  together  with  the  roar- 
ing of  the  tide  beneath,  rendered  them  habitable  only  by 
those  accustomed  to  such  a  residence.  Yet,  notwithstanding 
its  narrowness,  the  Bridge-street  was  always  a  scene  of 
bustle  and  activity,  and  the  resort  of  all  classes,  from  the 
gallant,  ruffling  in  silk  and  velvet,  to  the  sturdy  porter  and 
nimble  'prentice.  Here,  too,  the  dame  of  quality  and  the 
rich  citizen's  wife  came  to  make  their  purchases,  for  the  shops 
in  the  Bridge-street  were  then  held  in  great  repute. 

At  the  commencement  of  the  reign  of  James  the  First, 
nearly  opposite  the  chapel  of  St.  Thomas,  which  stood  on  the 
eastern  side  of  the  bridge,  dwelt  one  Mastej  Bartholomew 
Tolason,  an  old  merchant,  who  was  accounted  passing  rich  by 
most  of  his  neighbours.  In  early  life  he  had  taken  unto 
himself  a  wife,  but,  after  a  few  short  years  of  uninterrupted 
happiness.  Dame  Tolason  quitted  this  sublunary  world  for 
another,  and,  it  is  to  be  hoped,  a  better,  bequeathing  him 
two  fine  boys.  The  death  of  his  wife,  whom  he  loved  most 
tenderly,  was  a  severe  trial  for  Master  Tolason,  but  time  and 
his  children  did  much  towards  alleviating  his  grief.  He 
determined  to  spare  no  expense  in  educating  them;  and,  as 
soon  as  they  had  arrived  at  a  proper  age,  they  were  sent  to 
the  grammar-school  in  Southwark.  For  the  first  few  years, 
the  progress  the  boys  made  in  their  learning  exceeded  the 
most  sanguine  expectations  of  their  indulgent  father,  who 
never  forgot  to  visit  them  every  Sunday,  after  leaving 
St.  Magnus*  church  at  which  he  was  a  constant  attendant. 


206  TALES  OF  OTHER  DAYS. 

Perhaps  it  was  not  the  good  curate's  pious  exhortations 
alone,  which  made  the  old  merchant  so  constant  and  regular 
a  visitor.  'Twas  there  he  had  first  beheld  the  fair  form  and 
blue  eyes  of  the  being  who  had  been  so  suddenly  snatched 
irom  him,  and  who  now  lay  beneath  the  cold  marble  slab  near 
the  seat  which  he  usually  occupied.  His  whole  care  was 
directed  to  his  children,  whom  he  anticipated  would  be  s 
solace  and  a  comfort  to  him  in  his  declining  years; — bu. 
these  visions  of  happiness  were  soon  dispelled;  the  boys 
were  growing  up,  and  it  was  clearly  perceptible  that  the 
youngest,  who  was  named  Edmund,  paid  less  attention  to  his 
studies  than  his  brother  Aubrey,  whom  the  old  merchant 
had  named  after  his  deceased  wife.  Edmund  became  tetchy, 
wayward,  and  stubborn,  and  set  many  examples  of  insu- 
bordination to  his  school-fellows.  Chastisement  only  tended 
to  inflame  his  spirit  the  more,  and  at  length,  wearied  in  his 
fruitless  endeavours  to  subdue  his  fierce  and  fiery  tomperj  he 
was  dismissed  from  school  by  the  master,  who  dreaded  the 
consequence  to  the  other  boys,  if  he  remained  any  longer. 

The  good  merchant,  on  receiving  his  son  back,  determined 
to  treat  him  with  all  possible  kindness;  well  knowing  that 
harsh  measures  seldom  succeed  in  reclaiming  such  spirits. 
Edmund  was  therefore  treated  with  great  tenderness  by  his 
father,  and  all  but  old  Martha,  his  housekeeper,  thought  he 
had  succeeded;  she,  on  the  contrary,  always  maintained  that 
he  was  "  an  imp  of  the  old  one,"  an<l  would  again  resume  his 
proper  character.  These  sage  sayings,  however,  were 
heeded  not  by  the  old  merchant;  but  on  Aubrey's  leaving 
school  he  soon  experienced  the  truth  of  thorn.  The  brothers, 
spite  of  Aubrey's  peaceable  disposition,  were  perpetually 
quarrelling.  Master  Tolason  witnessed  it  with  evident  con- 
cern; for  three  years  his  house  was  a  scene  of  strife  and 
contention  whenever  they  met;  even  the  presence  of  their 
father  would  not  restrain  them.  The  good  merchant  at 
length  began  to  dread  the  issue,  as  they  had  almost  arrived 
at  man's  estate,  and  the  conduct  of  Edmund  became  every 
day  more  fierce  and  violent.  After  deliberating  a  long  time 
on  the  most  expedient  means  of  separating  them,  Master 
Tolason  resolved  to  send  his  eldest  son  into  Italy.  He  fixed 
on  Aubrey,  not  that  he  loved  him  less,  but  because  he  feared 
to  intrust  Edmund  with  such  a  journey. 

Aubrey  accordingly  left  England  with  letters  of  intro- 
duction to  some  of  the  first  merchants  at  Genoa,  with  wnom 
his  father  had  become  acquainted  in  the  course  of  business. 


THE     BROTHERS.  '200 

On  the  departure  of  Aubrey,  Master  Tolason's  house 
became  a  scene  of  quietude.  The  brothers  were  separated, 
and  the  object  which  had  so  often  kindled  Edmund's  ire,  no 
longer  troubled  him;  yet  he  showed  no  stronger  inclination 
to  business  than  before.  The  counting-house  was  seldom 
visited,  unless  for  a  fresh  supply  of  money,  which  the  old 
merchant — such  was  the  ascendancy  Edmund  had  gained 
over  him — dared  not  refuse  him.  Much  of  his  money  was 
spent  at  taverns,  and  on  different  articles  of  dress.  His 
doublet  and  hose  were  made  after  the  fashion  of  the  most 
cutting  gallants,  and  a  long  rapier  of  Spanish  steel  of  the 
newest  and  most  approved  shape  dangled  by  his  side.  He 
was  known  by  every  one,  from  his  father's  house  to  St.  Paul's, 
whore  he  daily  lounged,  with  several  fops  of  his  acquaintance, 
jingling  his  spurs,  and  assuming  the  looks  and  airs  of  his 
superiors. 

A  year  had  passed  since  Aubrey  left  England,  and  the  old 
merchant  evinced  great  anxiety  for  his  return;  but  on 
mentioning  it  to  Edmund,  he  flew  into  violent  paroxysms  of 
rage,  and  used  many  threats  against  his  father  and  his  bro- 
ther, till  at  length  the  old  man  abandoned  his  intentions  for 
a  time.  Aubrey  had  been  heard  from  several  times  since 
his  departure,  but  his  letters  did  not  express  any  wish  to 
return;  which,  no  doubt,  arose  from  the  recollection  of  his 
brother's  violent  temper.  This,  however,  served  as  an 
excellent  pretext  for  Edmund,  who  failed  not  to  taunt  his 
father  with  it;  yet  it  had  but  little  weight  with  the  old  rnaii. 
Another  year  passed,  during  which  Edmund's  conduct 
grew  more  violent,  and  his  father  gave  up  all  thoughts  of  his 
ever  reforming,  when,  finding  that  his  health  was  declining, 
he  at  length,  unknown  to  Edmund,  wrote  to  his  absent  son, 
begging  him  to  return  speedily. 

****** 

On  a  fine  evening  in  the  spring  of  the  year,  two  horsemen 
were  seen  advancing  along  the  High-street  in  the  Borough. 
The  soiled  and  dirty  condition  of  their  apparel,  and  the 
jaded  state  of  the  beasts  they  rode,  told  that  their  journey 
had  been  long  and  unpleasant.  He  who  rode  first,  appeared, 
from  the  superiority  of  his  habiliments,  to  be  the  master, 
while  the  other  wore  the  garb  of  a  menial;  and  though  he 
barely  kept  at  a  distance  usually  prescribed  to  those  of  his 
class,  and  laughed  and  chatted  with  the  other,  yet  he  pre- 
served a  degree  of  respect  which  the  good  nature  an'l 
gentlemanly  bearing  of  his  master  commanded.  Their 


210  TALES  OF  OTHER  DAYS, 

horses  seemed  almost  incapable  of  proceeding  much  farther, 
and  the  foremost  horseman  by  turns  laughed  at  the  knave's 
remarks  on  the  passers  by,  and  coaxed  and  patted  his 
steed. 

"  So  ho!"  cried  the  latter,  eyeing  a  respectable-looking 
couple  who  were  walkinsr  on  one  side  of  the  way,  followed 
by  a  strapping  wench  with  a  fine  infant  in  her  arms. 
"  Mistress  Joyce  is  married  at  last  to  Ralph,  the  felt-maker's 
son,  and  has  a  fine  boy  too;  and  there,"  continued  he,  point- 
ing to  a  demure-lookiner  personage,  "  there's  Puritan  Peter 
Cole  o'  the  Bankside,  with  his  Bible  stuck  in  his  girdle,  and 
his  rapier  hanging  behind  him  like  the  tail  of  a  lean  rat — 
and  there's  Gaffer  Robbing  with  his  buxom  daughter,  an  arch 

little  Jezebel,  that and  here  is  the  White  Hart,  with  a 

fresh  daub  of  paint,  which  has  been  laid  on  pretty  thickly." 
With  these  remarks  he  followed  his  master,  who  rode  under 
the  gateway  of  the  White  Hart.  It  will  be  hardly  necessary 
to  inform  our  readers  that  the  travellers  were  Aubrey  Tolason 
and  his  man.  He  had  obeyed  his  father's  orders,  and  left 
Italy  immediately  on  the  receipt  of  the  letter. 

Aubrey  walked  hastily  along,  and,  passing  through  South- 
wark  gate,  entered  the  Bridge-street.  In  a  short  time  he 
arrived  at  his  father's  house,  at  the  door  of  which  he  knocked 
loudly.  It  was  opened  by  old  Martha,  the  housekeeper, 
whose  wrinkled  face  assumed  a  smile  on  beholding  her  young 
master  again. 

"  Well,  Martha,"  said  Aubrey,  "  how  fares  my  honoured 
father  and  my  brother  Ned?  Has  he  grown  stcadv  yet?" 

To  these  interrogatories  Martha  made  no  reply.  The 
smile  which  had  lit  up  for  a  moment  her  aged  Features,  gave 
place  to  a  look  of  sadness;  she  shook  her  head,  and,  on  being 
again  questioned,  raised  her  apron,  and,  covering  her  face, 
wept  aloud.  Aubrey's  mind  misgave  him,  and,  on  M.mha's 
recovering  herself  his  worst  fears  were  realized.  On  hoar'niir 
of  his  father's  death,  he  bitterly  reproached  himself  fur  nut 
having  returned  sooner.  To  add  to  his  grief,  he  learnt  that 
his  brother's  conduct  had  become  worse;  that  he  was  an 
object  of  hatred  and  execration  to  all  his  neighbours;  and,  to 
crown  all,  she  informed  him  that  his  father  had  willed  all 
his  property  to  the  worthless  Edmund.  However  sincerely 
Aubrey  might  have  mourned  the  death  of  his  parent,  I  is 
chagrin  and  vexation  overmastered  his  sorrow,  on  hearing 
that  the  old  merchant  had  left  him  destitute.  His  Imthor 
inquiries  only  tended  to  confirm  what  Martha  had  informed 


THE    BROTHERS.  211 

him  of.  He  learnt,  too,  that  the  house  was  a  nightly  scene 
of  riot  and  debauchery,  and  had  been  complained  of  to  the 
city  authorities.  Martha  sympathized  with  the  distress  of 
her  young  master,  who  flung  himself  into  a  chair, 'and  remained 
for  some  time  in  a  state  of  stupor.  When,  however,  he 
recovered  his  self-possession,  he  inquired  for  his  brother. 

"  Alas!"  replied  Martha,  "  I  know  not  whither  he  is  gone; 
no  doubt  he  is  drinking  at  the  White  Horse,  with  his  trusty 
companion  Bradshawe,  or  some  other  such  swinge-buckler." 

•'  I  will  seek  him — I  will  seek  him  this  instant,"  cried 
Aubrey,  starting  on  his  feet.  "  I  will  examine  the  will 
myself;  my  own  eyes  shall  be  witness  that  it  bears  my  father's 
seal  and  has  his  proper  signature." 

As  he  said  this,  he  hastily  threw  his  cloak  round  him,  and 
left  the  house  with  his  trusty  Jasper.  A  few  minutes'  sharp 
walking  brought  them  to  the  Bankside,  and  Aubrey  eagerly 
sought  for  the  tavern  spoken  of  by  Martha.  The  sun  was 
fast  sinking,  and  poured  its  light  on  the  Thames,  which 
glowed  like  a  vein  of  molten  gold.  The  noble  tower  of 
St.  Mary  Overy  threw  its  long  shadow  across  the  church- 
yard, and  seemed  to  look  down  with  an  air  of  pride  and 
protection  on  the  gabled-fronted  and  whitewashed  buildings 
which  surrounded  it.  Amongst  the  houses  alluded  to,  stood 
one  more  conspicuous  than  the  rest,  having  its  door-post 
ornamented  with  chequers  of  white,  red,  and  gold.  Over 
the  entrance  was  fixed  an  uncouth  figure,  but  little  resem- 
bling the  animal  it  was  intended  to  represent,  underneath 
which  was  painted  in  legible  characters,  "  THIS  is  Y"  WHITJE 
HORSE."  Aubrey,  bidding  Jasper  remain  without,  abruptly 
entered  the  house.  He  had  already  laid  his  hand  on  the 
handle  of  the  door  which  communicated  with  the  public 
room,  when  the  sound  of  several  voices  calling  for  a  song 
arrested  his  attention;  he  paused  awhile,  thinking  he  might 
recognize  his  brother's  voice  amongst  them,  when  the  follow- 
ing song  was  sung  in  a  deep  bass,  but  not  unmusical  tone, 
though  it  was  evident  the  singer's  throat  had  suffered  from 
long  and  frequent  potations. 

Drain,  drain  the  bowl, 

If  ye  would  not  have  your  soul 

Oppressed  by  grisly  care, 

That  lank  imp  o'  the  devil ; 

With  us  he'd  badly  fare, 

For  merrie  are  they  who  revel 

In  sherris  and  canarie. 


212  TALES    OF    OTHER    DAYS. 

Hasten,  hasten  here, 
Not  an  eyelid  drops  a  tear, 
Save  what  laughter  does  shed. 
•        If  your  damsel's  unkind, 
Here  a  refuge  you'll  find, 
Light  o'  heart,  light  o'  head, 
The  stirrup-cup  to  the  mind 

Is  sparkling  canarie. 

Hither,  hither  fly, 

If  the  sherieves  man  be  nigh 

With  his  freedom  killing  paw ; 

Or  if  you'd  essay, 

Your  bilbo  to  draw, 

You'd  find  the  right  way 

Is  to  drink  bright  canarie. 

A  loud  roar  of  applause  followed,  when  Aubrey  entered 
the  room,  and  his  dark  eye  glanced  hastily  round  the  apart- 
ment; but  his  brother  was  not  there. 

"  Ned's  brother,"  whispered  some  of  the  company,as  they 
gazed  with  vacant  countenances  on  Aubrey,  whose  face  and 
figure  strikingly  resembled  Edmund's. 

"  Yes,  gentleman,"  replied  he,  somewhat  hastily;  "  1  am, 
indeed,  the  brother  of  that  Edmund  Tolason — would  to  God 
it  were  not  so." 

"  Why  so,  fair  sir?"  inquired  a  tall  gaunt  figure,  who  sat 
with  his  elbow  resting  on  a  table,  on  which  stood  a  Venice 
glass  and  a  flask  of  canary.  His  high-crowned  and  narrow- 
brimmed  hat,  in  which  was  stuck  a  tuft  of  cocks'  feathers,  was 
placed  on  one  side  of  his  head,  from  which  flowed  a  profusion 
of  black  hair;  he  wore  a  pourpoint  of  Milan  fustian  with  silver 
points;  a  broad  belt  sustained  his  dagger  and  a  Bilboa  blade 
of  great  length,  and  his  high-heeled  boots  were  ornamented 
with  a  pair  of  gilt  spurs. 

Aubrey  made  no  reply  to  this  man's  question,  but  inquired 
of  one  of  the  company  if  he  had  seen  his  brother  Edmund. 

"  He  has  just  left  us,"  replied  several  voices;  "  for  his 
friend,  the  captain  there,  has  won  his  last  purse.'' 

Aubrey  glanced  scornfully  at  the  person  alluded  to,  who 
was,  in  fact,  he  whom  we  have  just  described. 

"  You  seem  chafed,  gentle  sir,''  said  the  man  of  war,  with 
provoking  coolness. 

"  Chafed!"  echoed  Aubrey;  "  yes,  Sir  Captain,  I  am 
grieved  that  my  brother  hath  so  far  forgotten  himself  as 
to  spend  his  time  in  dicing  and  drinking,  to  the  neglect  of  his 
ousiness." 


THE    UltOTJlEKS.  '2l-i 

"  Truly,  you  are  a  moralizing  younjr  gentleman,"  said  the 
captain,  lolling  back  in  his  chair,  and  stretching  out  his  legs, 
"  but  mine  host  here  does  not  favour  Puritans,  so  ye  may 
e'en  depart  the  way  ye  came." 

Aubrey's  blood  boiled  at  this  insult. 

"  Sir  Stranger,"  said  he,  "  I  can  ill  brook  such  language — 
bridle  your  tongue,  or  your  coat  may  suffer  for  your  want  of 
courtesy." 

"  Thou  answerest  like  a  malapert  boy,"  replied  the  cap- 
tain— "  Mike  Bradshawe  hath  slain  his  man  ere  now,  for 
a  less  word.  But  come,"  continued  he,  "  chafe  it  not;  I 
would  forgive  thee  for  thy  brother's  sake,  who  is  a  promising 
fellow,  belie.ve  me; — wilt  drink,  rny  young  master?" 

As  he  said  this,  he  rilled  a  glass,  and  presented  it  to 
Aubrey,  who,  provoked  at  the  captain's  indifference,  seemed 
too  full  for  words,  and,  ias  the  latter  held  out  the  glass,  he 
raised  his  arm,  and  dashed  it  to  the  ground. 

"  By  buff  and  bilbo!"  cried  the  captain,  "  thou  shalt  pay 
the  forfeit  of  thy  daring!"  and,  springing  up,  he  unsheathed 
his  rapier,  and  called  on  Aubrey  to  defend  himself.  Aubrey's 
blade  was  bared  in  an  instant,  and  their  swords  crossed.  The 
c.iptain  was  well  skilled  in  fence,  and  pressed  hard  upon  nis 
adversary,  but  Aubrey  threw  aside  his  passes,  and  returned 
them  with  great  rapidity.  Fortunately  he  had,  while  in  Italy, 
received  instructions  from  some  of  the  most  skilful  masters  of 
the  art.  The  combat  was  not  of  long  duration,  for  the  cap- 
tain, enraged  at  being  foiled  by  one  of  such  youthful  ap- 
pearance, fought  with  less  caution;  and  Aubrey,  watching  his 
opportunity,  passed  his  rapier  through  the  body  of  his 
adversary,  with  such  force,  that  the  hilt  struck  him  on  the 
breast,  and  he  fell  heavily  on  the  floor. 

"  Away!"  cried  several  voices,  on  perceiving  Aubrey 
attempt  to  raise  the  body.  "  If  thou  hast  a  light  pair  of  heels 
thou  mayest  save  thy  neck;  fly  to  the  waterside  and  take 
boat — the  constable  and  his  knaves  will  be  here  anon." 

These  persuasions  were  lost  upon  Aubrey.  They  all 
crowded  round  the  wounded  man,  who  raised  himself  upon 
his  elbow,  and,  throwing  back  the  long  dark  hair  which  over- 
shadowed his  face,  he  faintly  articulated,  "  'Tis  a  just  judgment. 
Come  hither,  youth — closer  still,"  he  continued,  as  Aubrey 
knelt  by  his  side.  "  Mike  Bradshawe  is  sped,  but  he  would 
make  some  atonement  for  the  injury  he  has  helped  to  do 
thee;  here" — taking  a  bale  of  false  dice  from  his  breast— 


214  TALES    OF    OTHER    .DAYS. 

"  here  is  that  which  will  bring  thy  brother  to  an  end  as  un- 
timely;" and  he  threw  them  on  the  floor. 

"  Will  any  of  ye  hasten  for  a  surgeon?"  inquired  Aubrey. 

"  'Tis  of  no  use — none,"  said  the  dying  man;  "  I  have  not 
long  to  live,  but  the  time  left  shall — Oh!  I  faint — thou 
knowest  the  chest  which  standeth  in  thy  late  father's  counting- 
house  y 

"  I  do." 

"  Hasten  thither;  it  contains  the  will — the  forged  will!  the 
one  thy  brother  made  and  I  witnessed!  possess  thyself  of 
that — and" 

The  miserable  man  could  no  longer  articulate — the  efibrt 
he  had  made  to  reveal  his  villany  overpowered  him — the 
death-rattle  choked  his  speech — his  clenched  hands  relaxed 
— his  jaw  fell,  and  the  next  moment  he  was  a  lifeless  corpse. 

Aubrey  stood  for  some  moments  gazing  on  the  body  of  his 
fallen  adversary,  when  he  was  aroused  from  his  stupor  bv  the 
entrance  of  the  constable,  followed  by  half  a  dozen  assistants, 
bearing  brownbills,  the  usual  weapons  then  carried  by  those 
officers. 

"  Make  room,"  said  the  officious  officer,  forcing  his  way 
into  the  apartment;  "  what!"  cried  he,  espying  the  corpse  of 
the  captain;  "  what!  the  captain  dead  at  last! — which  of  ye 
have  robbed  the  hangman  of  his  due?" 

"  A  truce  with  your  jesting,  sir!"  said  Aubrey;  "  the 
unhappy  man  died  by  my  hand,  but  he  drew  on  me  first." 

"  Ha!  ha!  ha!  laughed  the  constable,  "then  you  are 
likely  to  take  a  short  journey  to  Tyburn  ere  long,  an'  I  mis- 
take not." 

"  My  heart  is  too  full,"  said  Aubrey,  "  or  I  would  resent 
your  gibes;  come  with  me,  sir,  I  command  you,  for  I  have 
much  need  of  your  assistance." 

The  constable  was  about  to  reply,  when  one  of  those  who 
had  witnessed  the  encounter  acquainted  him  with  what  had 
passed,  particularly  the  captain's  dying  confession. 

"  Oil,  oh!"  cried  the  man  in  authority,  ''that  alters  the 
case;  'tis  a  foul  conspiracy  to  defraud  an  honest  gentleman. 
I  am  ready  to  attend  ye,  sir." 

"Then  on  to  the  Bridge-street,"  said  Aubrey;  and  the 
whole  party  proceeded  thither.  On  arriving  at  the  house, 
Aubrey,  together  with  the  constable  and  his  fellows,  were 
admitted.  The  chest  mentioned  by  the  captain  was  quickly 
forced,  and  the  first  object  that  presented  itself  was  the 


THE     BROTHERS.  2  1  ."> 

forared  will.  Aubrey  emptied  the  contents  of  the  chest, 
which  chiefly  consisted  of  papers,  and,  to  his  great  joy,  dis- 
covered the  will  his  father  had  made,  hut  it  was  not  witnessed. 
Old  Martha  beheld  this  scene  with  mute  surprise;  while 
Aubrey  waited  impatiently  for  his  brother's  return.  In  a 
short  time,  a  loud  knocking  was  heard  at  the  door,  and.  on 
its  being  opened,  Edmund  entered.  Unconscious  of  wnat 
had  happened,  he  abruptly  strode  into  the  apartment  where 
Aubrey  and  the  constable  were  waiting?  He  started  on 
beholding  them,  and,  in  a  voice  of  mingled  surprise  and  dis- 
pleasure, welcomed  his  brother. 

"  Edmund  Tolason,"  said  Aubrey,  "  I. know  thee  well;  do 
not  attempt  to  deceive  me.  I  know  my  presence  troubles 
thee  much,  and  that  my  return  was  not  expected." 

Edmund  surveyed  his  brother  from  head  to  foot;  and, 
whether  it  was  from  the  violence  of  his  passion,  which  he 
was  endeavouring  to  smother,  or  the  effect  of  conscious  guilt, 
his  whole  frame  was  palsied,  and  the  fingers  of  his  right  hand, 
which  played  with  the  handle  of  his  dagger,  shook  like  the 
aspen. 

"  These  are  strange  words,  brother  Aubrey,"  replied  he. 
"  and  thy  bearing  still  more  strange;  it  lacks  of  that  brotherly 

feeling  thou  didst  once  love  to  boast  of but,"  continued 

he,  "  what  brings  these  men  here?  Speak,  knaves,  who 
brought  ye  hither?" 

"  Marry,  sir,  this  good  gentleman,  your  brother,"  said  the 
officious  constable;  when  Aubrey  interrupted  him. 

"  Edmund,"  said  he,  "  I  have  heard  of  thy  misdeeds  during 
my  absence,  and  much  does  it  grieve  me  to  act  in  the  man- 
ner I  am  now  forced  to  do.  I  always  thought  thee  wild  and 
turbulent,  but  never  did  I  consider  thee  capable  of  doing  a 
deed  so  black  as  that  thou  art  guilty  of.  I  see  thine  eye 
flash,  and  thy  lip  quiver;  nay,  speak  not  till  I  have  shown 
thee  the  instrument  you  and  your  confederate  have  forged." 

As  he  uttered  these  words,  he  drew  the  forged  will  from 
his  bosom,  and  held  it  up.  Edmund  regarded  it  for  some 
moments  with  a  fixed  stare,  while  his  brother  cried,  "  See, 
here  is  thy  infernal  contrivance  to  rid  me  of  my  just  heritage.'' 

"  Liar!"  shouted  Edmund,  springing  forward,  "  dost  thou 
doubt  that  document  ?  Does  it  not  bear  thy  father's  signature  ? 
and  is  it  not  witnessed  in  due  form  '<" 

"  Thy  father  never   saw  this   parchment,"   said   Auorey 
firmly;  "  'tis  thine  own  writing,  and  he  who  witnessed  it  was 
bribed  for  the  purpose." 
11 


?16  TALES  or  OTII;:I:   r,\v.«. 

"  Ha!"  cried  Edmund,  while  his  countenance  grew  deadly 
pale,  and  evcrv  limb  quivered  with  emotion.  "  Aubrey,  thy 
art  will  not  avail  thce;  I'll  seek  the  gentleman  who  witnessed 
my  father's  will."  He  was  about  to  leave  the  room,  when 
the  constable  and  his  men  interposed. 

"  What!"  cried  Edmund,  in  a  voice  of  thunder,  "am  I  a 
prisoner  in  my  own  house?  Make  room,  varlets,  or  by 
Heaven !" « 

"  Profane  not  that  word,"  interrupted  Aubrey;  "thon  goest 
not  hence;  guard  well  the  door — and  know,  thou  heartless 
son  of  a  fond  and  indulgent  father,  that  the  wretched  man  who 
aided  thee  in  thy  villany  sleeps  in  death:  1  slew  him  not  half 
an  hour  hence,  and  he  confessed  that" 

" 'Tis  false!"  screamed  Edmund,  "'tis  false,  thou  lying 
varlet!"  and,  drawing  a  small  dag  or  pocket-pistol  from  his 
breast,  he  discharged  it  at  the  head  of  his  brother.  The  ball 
grazed  Aubrey's  left  arm,  and  lodged  in  the  oak  wainscot. 
Edmund  started  back  on  perceiving  that  his  brother  did  not 
fall,  then  suddenly  drew  his  sword,  and  rushed  upon  him. 
Luckily  Aubrey  had  drawn  his  rapier  in  time,  and  succeeded 
in  parrying  his  brother's  lunges,  when  the  constable  and  his 
men  interposed.  Aubrey's  superior  skill  at  his  weapon  had 
enabled  him  to  wrest  his  brother's  rapier  from  his  hand,  which, 
flying  to  the  side  of  the  apartment,  dashed  to  fragments  a 
large  mirror  which  hung  against  the  wall. 

Maddened  with  rage,  Edmund  drew  his  dagger  and  rushed 
upon  Aubrey,  when  a  blow  from  a  bill  brought  him  to  the 
ground;  the  weapon  fell  from  his  hand,  and  the  constable's 
men  secured  him.  They  raised  him  up,  and  one  of  the  men 
was  sent  to  procure  cords  to  bind  his  arms,  when  Aubrey 
spoke. 

"  Unhand  him,"  said  he,  in  a  voice  almost  choked  with 
grief.  "  Edmund,  acknowledge  thyself  guilty,  and  I  will 
forgive  thee  for  our  father's  sake." 

The  men  released  their  prisoner,  and  Edmund,  putting 
aside  with  his  hand  his  long  auburn  locks,  which  were  dyed 
with  the  blood  from  the  wound  he  had  received,  replied,  in 
hurried  accents — 

"  Aubrey  Tolason,  I  thank  thee  for  this  courtesy,  for  trust 
me,  I  could  not  live  to  hear  the  yellings  of  a  Tyburn  mob. 
Enjoy  thy  father's  wealth  undisturbed;  live  amidst  thy  mer- 
chandise, and  forget  that  thou  ever  hadst  a  brother.  Curse 
on  my  folly,  and  the  fiend  that  tempted;  and  curse  on  the 
drivelling  fool  who  died  betraying  me!" 


ROlitR    CI.KVELLY.  217 

With  these  words,  ere  those  present  could  interpose,  he 
leapt  on  a  chair  which  stood  under  the  window  overlooking 
the  river,  and  sprung  from  it  into  the  roaring  tide  beneath. 
Aubrey  flew  to  the  casement,  but  it  was  only  to  see  the  body 
of  his  brother  borne  along  by  the  resistless  current. 


ROGER  CLEVELLY. 

A     DEVON  SHIRK      LEGEND. 

"  Why  did  you  win  my  virgin  heart, 
Yet  leave  that  heart  to  break  i" 

William  and  Margaret, 

"  K.  Henry.  O  thou  eterrml  mover  of  the  heavens, 
Look  with  a  gentle  eye  upon  this  wretch ! 
O,  beat  away  the  busy  meddling  fiend, 
That  lays  strong  siege  unto  this  wretch's  soul  " 

•2nd  Part  of  K.  Henry  VI. 

IN  the  village  of  Winkloigh  there  lived,  in  the  reign  of 
Charles  the  Second,  a  miller  of  the  name  of  Clevelly;  he 
was  what  is  called,  in  the  remote  parts  of  the  county,  a  sub- 
stantial man;  what  he  had  was  his  own,  and  his  upright  deal- 
ings with  the  world,  and  economy  in  his  own  household, 
enabled  him  at  his  death  to  place  his  son  Roger,  who  had 
just  attained  his  twenty-second  year,  in  similarly  independent 
circumstances.  His  estate  consisted  of  a  good  mill,  and  about 
ten  acres  of  land  in  tolerable  cultivation.  Many  were  the 
deliberations  of  the  calculating  fathers  and  sharp-eyed  mothers 
of  Winkleigh,  upon  young  Clevelly's  succeeding  to  his  father's 
possessions;  and  they  took  especial  care  that  none  of  their 
daughters  should  be  absent  on  Sundays  at  the  village  church. 
Roger  was  a  comely  and  well-proportioned  youth,  though  the 
fastidious  might  say  he  was  somewhat  too  sturdy;  but  this  is 
a  fault  which  is  easily  overlooked  in  Devonshire,  where  skill 
in  wrestling  is  so  much  in  repute,  and  where  strength  of  body 
is  often  found  to  make  amends  for  any  deficiency  in  the 
mental  faculty.  He  had  made  no  slight  impression  on  the 
faired-eyed  girls  of  his  native  village:  although  there  were 
some  damsels,  whose  charms  were  on  the  wane,  who  hinted 
that  the  flourishing  business  of  Rojjer  Clevelly  was  the  most 


218  TALES  OF  OTHER  DAYS. 

powerful  magnet.  Be  this  as  it  may,  there  were  many  families 
who  would  have  been  proud  of  an  alliance  with  the  young 
miller;  but  the  charms  of  no  maiden  had  as  yet  enslaved 
him,  although  there  were  many  in  his  neighbourhood  who 
could  boast  of  a  fair  proportion  of  that  beauty  for  which  the 
damsels  of  Devonshire  are  so  justly  famous.  Many  were  the 
invitations  he  received,  and  no  rustic  fete  was  given  to  \\hich 
he  was  not  invited. 

Three  years  had  passed  away  since  the  death  of  his  father, 
when  Roger,  at  length,  seriously  determined  to  take  unto 
himself  a  wife;  and  he  was  not  long  in  fixing  upon  one  whom 
he  thought  in  every  respect  likely  to  render  him  happy.  He 
accordingly  waited  one  morning  upon  the  father  of  the  object 
of  his  choice,  and,  after  some  preliminary  formulas,  Roger  was 
permitted  to  visit  the  house  of  the  wealthy  farmer,  in  the 
quality  of  a  lover,  or,  in  more  modem  parlance,  to  "  pay  his 
addresses"  to  the  old  man's  darling,  the  beautiful  Alice  Buck- 
land.  Hers  was  that  beantj  at  which  your  city  dames  may 
scotf;  hut  her  fair  cheek,  glowing:  with  the  rosy  hue  of  health, 
her  white  and  even  teeth,  and  dark  brown  ringlets,  though  all 
partaking  of  a  certain  degree  of  rusticity,  were  not  less  win- 
ning; and  her  triumph  over  the  lusty  young  miller  was  com- 
plete. Between  two  such  beings  there  is  little  fear  of  a  lack 
of  affection;  and,  ere  the  year  was  out,  each  village  lass 
pointed  to  the  happy  couple  as  they  strolled  along,  and,  with 
laughing  eye  and  significant  gestures,  betrayed  her  allowable 
envy. 

But  the  dark  veil  of  superstition  was  still  spread  over  the 
peasantry  of  England.  Evil  spirits  were  believed  to  roam 
through  the  world,  blighting  the  fair  hopes  of  the  young  and 
s.uiguine  heart.  A  dark  and  fearful  tale  had  oft  been  whis- 
pered by  the  elders  of  the  village,  that  Roger  Clevelly  was 
the  last  of  his  race,  and  that  an  evil  destiny  hunsr  over  him. 
But  he  heard  not  these  things,  or,  if  he  did  hear  them,  they 
were  unheeded,  and  their  forebodings  troubled  him  not. 

At  length,  the  day  was  fixed  for  their  marriage,  and  the 
busy  fingers  of  the  bride  and  her  friend  were  employed  in 
preparing  her  wedding  dress.  In  three  weeks  they  were  to 
be  made  man  and  wife,  and  each  looked  forward  to  the 
happy  day  which  should  see  them  united  by  the  holy  and  in- 
dissoluble bond  of  wedlock. 

Young  Clevelly  was  in  the  habit  of  riding  over  to  Hather- 
leigh  market  every  week;  and  he  had  left  home  one  day  for 
that  purpose,  intending  to  make  a  purchase  of  some  corn,  of 


EOOER    CLEVET.I.Y.  2  1  f) 

a  farmer  with  whom  he  had  many  dealings.  His  <=tay  Hi 
Hatherleigh  was  much  protracted,  in  consequence  of  hU  not. 
finding  this  person  in  the  town,  ;is  lie  expected,  and  nijj-ht 
was  advancing,  when  he  determined  to  return  homo.  Be- 
fore lie  had  quitted  the  town  half  an  hour,  it  became  quite 
dark,  this  made  him  urge  his  horse  forward  with  some  speed, 
for  the  roads  in  those  days  were  not  over  safe  to  travel  in 
the  night  time.  He  had  arrived  within  a  mile  of  his  home, 
when  the  horse  he  rode,  with  an  instinct  peculiar  to  that 
animal,  suddenly  shyed,  and,  in  doing1  so,  nearly  threw  the 
young  miller  into  the  road;  at  the  same  moment  a  faint  voice 
cried  out  for  help. 

"  Whoa!  whoa!  jade!"  said  the  miller,  stroking  the  neck 
of  his  horse;  then,  raising  his  voice,  he  cried  out,  in  the 
familiar  dialect  of  the  west,  to  the  person  who  had  spoken, 
and  whom,  owing  to  the  darkness,  he  could  not  see  dis- 
tinctly— 

"  Who  hist  thee,  vriend  ?  and  what  brings  thee  here  at  this 
time  o'  night?" 

A  deep  pau^e  en«ned,  interrupted  only  hy  the  snorting 
and  pawing  of  the  miller's  horse.  No  answer  was  returned, 
and  Roger  dismounting,  perceived  that  a  young  and  well- 
dressed  man  was  lying  in  the  middle  of  the  road,  apparently 
in  a  state  of  intoxication.  After  a  moment's  deliberation 
he  drew  the  stranger  from  the  road,  and,  placing  him  on  the 
green  sward,  remounted  his  horse,  and  rode  hastily  home 
for  assistance.  This  was  soon  procured,  and,  in  half  an 
hour,  the  stranger  was  under  the  roof  of  the  young  miller, 
in  a  state,  to  all  appearance,  of  total  unconsciousness  of 
what  had  been  done  for  him  by  his  generous  preserver. 
Hock  and  soda-water,  the  modern  tippler's  remedy  for  such 
cases,  were  not  known  at  that  period  to  the  unsophisticated 
inhabitants  of  Winkleigh:  the  miller  had  none;  but  such 
simple  restoratives  as  his  generous  disposition  prompted 
him  to  use  were  not  spared  .to  render  his  guest  sensible  of 
the  kindness  with  which  he  had  been  treated.  Old  Dorcas, 
the  miller's  housekeeper,  not  unused  to  such  scenes  in  the 
lifetime  of  her  old  master,  ventured  to  suggest  that  a  night's 
sleep  would  restore  the  stranger  to  consciousness;  he  was 
therefore  placed,  with  much  care,  in  the  best  chamber, 
and  the  household,  retiring  to  rest,  left  the  crickets  to  their 
nightly  gambols  on  the  deserted  hearth. 

The  miller  arose  betimes,  and  set  about  his  accustomed 
labour.  When  breakfast  time  came,  the  stranger,  to  his 


220  TALKS  OF  OTHER  DAYS. 

astonishment,  entered  the  room,  and  thanked  his  preserver  in 
the  most  grateful  terms,  for  the  kindness  shown  hi:n.  Then; 
were  no  marks  left  on  his  countenance  of  the  excess  of  the 
previous  evening,  and  his  gait  and  manner  were  those  of  a 
man  who  had  seen  the  world,  and  mixed  with  polished 
society,  although  there  was  something  like  a  bluntness  in  his 
discourse,  which  indicated  that  he  had  been  used  to  the  sea. 
His  face  was  em;;i?'.stly  handsome;  his  eyes  were  large,  dark, 
and  lustrous;  his  nose  beautifully  formed;  his  month  some- 
what large,  but  well-shaped,  though,  when  he  smiled,  there 
was  a  writhing  of  the  nether  lip,  as  if  it  were  a  pain  to  him. 
His  hair  was  jetty  black,  and  fell  in  large  curls  over  his 
shoulders,  beautifully  contrasting  with  his  high,  pale  forehead, 
on  which  age  had  not  yet  stamped  a  single  wrinkle.  His 
figure  was  such  as  the  most  fastidious  might  essay  in  vain  to 
find  a  fault  with;  his  age  appeared  to  be  about  thirty.  Upon 
his  entering  the  room,  the  miller  handed  him  a  chair,  and 
then  helped  him  to  the  good  things  he  had  provided  for 
breakfast.  Tea,  coffee,  and  chocolate  were  not  known  in 
those  days  to  persons  in  his  station  of  life,  but  there  was  no 
lack  of  ham,  beef,  and  good  ale,  while  a  flask  of  choice  wine 
was  added  to  the  list  by  the  generous  young  miller.  The 
stranger,  however,  made  but  a  sorry  meal,  which  he  said  was 
owing  to  the  preceding  night's  debauch. 

"  'Tis  ever  so  with  me,"  said  lie,  "  after  I  have  drank  too 
freely  overnight.  'Tis  lucky  ^hat  1  escaped  without  a  broken 
limb,  for  my  mare  is  a  winsome  jade,  and  requires  a  tight 
hand." 

"  You  had  a  horse,  then?"  inquired  the  miller,  hastily; 
"  pardon  me,  sir,  i  wot  not  that  you  had  been  riding  last 
night,  though,  fool  that  I  am,  I  remember  unbuckling  your 
spurs  and  drawing  off  your  boots.  I  will  send  over  the 
country  in  search  of  it  immediately;"  and,  rising  from  his 
seat,  he  gave  orders  to  two  of  his  men  to  go  in  pursuit  of  the 
stray  horse. 

As  they  sat  at  breakfast,  the  stranger  conversed  freely  with 
the  young  miller,  and  scrupled  not  to  tell  him  that  he  had 
been  engaged  in  more  than  one  scene  of  violence  and  rapine 
on  the  coast  of  South  America. 

"  Here,"  said  he,  producing  a  massive  gold  chain,  "  I  took 
this  from  the  neck  of  the  governor  of  a  Spanish  fort  near 
Panama.  I  slesv  him  with  a  pistol  shot,  just  as  he  u us  about 
to  give  fire  to  one  of  his  culverins.  I  cannot  now  bestow  ii 
on  a  more  worthy  gentleman  than  yourself;"  and,  rising  i\-.nu 


U.OGEK    CLEVtLLY.  221 

his  seat,  he  hung  if  round  the  neck  of  the  astonished  miller, 
who,  thunderstruck  at  such  an  instance  of  generosity,  was 
with  difficulty  persuaded  to  keep  it. 

"  'Tis  but  a  trifle,"  said  the  stranger,  "  a  mere  bauble.* 
believe   me.      I   have   a  few  things  here,    though,  which    1 
should  have  much  grieved  for  the  loss  of,  hud   I  fallen  into 
other  hands." 

He  took  from  his  vest,  as  he  spoke,  a  steel  oasket,  and, 
opening  it  with  a  small  key,  displayed  a  quantity  of  jewels  of 
such  dazzling  brightness,  that  old  Dorcas  literally  screamed 
with  amazement,  while  the  young  miller  doubted  not  but  that 
he  had  given  shelter  to  the  king  himself;  and  he  already  saw 
himself  at  court,  a  dubbed  knight,  rulrling  in  siik  and  gold  lace, 
and  wearing  a  rapier  of  Bilboa  steel  by  his  side.  The 
stranger's  manner  was  bland  and  courteous,  and  his  marvel- 
lous relations  of  perils  by  land  and  sea,  and  '•  hair-breadth 
'scapes  i'  th'  imminent  deadly  breach,"  completely  turned  the 
head  of  the  miller,  who  paid  but  little  attention  to  his 
accustomed  labour  that  day.  Ere  dinner-time  arrived,  the 
men  who  had  gone  in  search  of  the  stranger's  horse  returned 
without  it,  and  informed  their  master  that  no  traces  of  the 
stray  animal  had  been  obtained. 

Not  to  tire  our  readers  with  all  that  passed  between  young 
Clevelly  and  his  guest,  we  must  inform  them,  that  at  the  end 
of  three  days  the  latter  discovered  no  inclination  to  depart. 
These  days  seemed  but  so  many  hours  to  the  miiler.  Sunday 
morning  came,  and  it  was  then  that  he,  for  the  first  time,  re- 
membered he  had  not  seen  his  beloved  Alice  since  the  day 
he  set  out  for  Hatherleigh  market.  Stung  by  self-reproach, 
he  hastened  to  his  chamber,  and  dressed  himself  in  his  best, 
to  attend  the  village  church,  for  the  tinkle  of  its  bell  now 
summoned  the  inhabitants  under  its  hallowed  roof.  Roger 
soon  completed  his  rustic  toilet,  and  was  descending  the 
stairs,  when  he  met  the  stranger,  whom  we  shall  now  call 
Herrick,  and  who  thus  accosted  him: — 

"  Whither  now,  Master  Clevelly?"  then,  glancing  ;it  his 
dress,  "  Trulv  those  hosen  become  your  leg  passing  well,  and 
your  points  are  tied  riirht  jauntily — Where  would  \  e,  fair  sir  ? 

"  To  church,"  replied  Roger.  "  Why  ask  je.  Master 
Herrick 't — will  ye  not  go  with  me?" 

The  lip  of  Herrick  curled  with  a  smile,  as  he  replied — 

"  Go  with  thee,  Master  Clevelly — marry,  1  would  as  liof 
hang.  What!  sit  for  a  whole  hour  »•  d  hear  a  long  discourse 


222  TALES  OF  OTHER  DAYS. 

from  that  feeble  and   short-sighted   piece   of  mortality   ye 
pointed  out  to  me  yesterday?     Never!" 

•     "  Pnthee,  forbear,"  replied  Roger,  somewhat  hastily,  "  he 
is  a  worthy,  pious  man,  and  is  beloved  by  his  flock;  as  to  his 

discourse,  why'' 

*"  Pshaw!"  interrupted  Herrick,  "  it  may  do  very  well  for 
the  clowns  of  this  village;  but  shall  I,  who  have  studied  in 
Arahy,  and  learnt  that  secret  which  places  the  wealth  of  the 
Indies  at  my  disposal,  listen  to  a  teacher  of  clodpoles?  Nay, 
huff  it  not,  man;  I  do  not  include  thee,  for  there  is  that  in  thy 
looks  which  tells  me  thou  wert  born  to  a  better  fortune." 

Roger  smiled. 

".Ay,"  continued  Herrick,  "  I  see  that  thou  art  possessed 
of  more  spirit  than  the  clowns  of  this  dull  village,  in  w  hich  no 
man  can  raise  himself.  What  say  ye,  sir,  to  a  visit  to  London  ? 
where  the  merits  of  a  gallant  like  yourself  are  soon  known 
and  appreciated." 

"  1  will  talk  of  that  when  I  return,"  replied  Roger,  brush- 
ing past  him;  "  but  if  I  stay  to  hear  you  now,  I  shall  not  get 
to  the  church  in  time,  and  I  must  go  to-day." 

He  bounded  from  the  house  as  he  spoke,  to  the  evident 
chagrin  of  Herrick,  and  soon  gained  the  church,  in  which  the 
inhabitants  of  the  village  were  already  assembled.  He 
passed  up  the  aisle,  and  entered  Master  Buckland's  pew, 
where  sat  his  beloved  Alice:  her  countenance  reddened 
with  a  mingled  feeling  of  gladness  and  displeasure.  A 
reproachful  glance  from  Alice  struck  to  his  heart,  and  he 
bitterly  upbraided  himself  for  hi?  neglect  of  the  beautiful  and 
fond  girl,  who  loved  him  with  the  unalloyed  affection  of  a 
first  and  early  passion.  Who  could  blame  them  if  they 
rejoiced  at  the  conclusion  of  the  morning  service  ?  As  they 
gained  the  churchyard,  the  lovers  separated  from  the  throng, 
and  Roger  sought  and  obtained  pardon  for  his  neglect. 

We  shall  not  dwell  on  all  that  transpired  between  them. 
Those  who  have  been  lovers  can  picture  to  themselves  such 
scenes,  while,  to  those  who  have  never  loved — and  where  are 
they  ? — the  pen  cannot  convey  an  adequate  description. 

When  Roger  returned  home,  the  vivid  description  of  Lon- 
don which  Herrick  save  him,  completely  turned  his  brain,  and 
he  swore  that  he  would  see  the  city,  and  taste  of  its  pleasures 
ere  that  rnoon  was  out.  And  he  kept  his  word;  for,  in  less 
than  a  week,  he  bade  adieu  to  the  village  of  Winkleigh,  and 
was  on  his  road  to  London,  accompanied  by  Herrick. 


ROGER    CLEVKLLY.  223 

It  was  not  without  regret  that  he  quilted  Alice,  but  then, 
he  consoled  himself  with  the  reflection  that  he  should  reap 
advantage  by  a  visit  to  London,  and  appear  more  refined  and 
polished  when  he  returned.  On  arriving  there,  they  put  up 
at  one  of  the  best  inns  in  Fleet-street,  and  Roger  was  soon 
the  gayest  of  the  wild  gallants  who  frequented  that  celebrated 
part  of  London.  Herrick  mingled,  with  the  polish  of  a 
courtier,  the  recklessness  and  careless  bearing:  of  a  Bailor,  and, 
ere  a  week  had  passed,  Clevelly,  under  his  guidance,  had 
drank  deep  at  the  dark  and  inky  fountain  of  vice.  His 
appearance  soon  altered;  his  face  lost  its  healthy  and 
sunburnt  hue,  and  his  languid  eye  told  too  plainly  that  dissi- 
pation had  done  its  work  upon  him.  His  step,  to  be  sure, 
was  much  like  that  of  the  gallants  in  London — he  turned  out 
his  toes  so  as  to  show  the  rosettes  on  his  shoes,  or,  when 
booted,  to  show  his  spur  leathers;  but  it  wanted  that  firm- 
ness and  elasticity  which  was  once  the  pride  of  Winkleigh. 

The  heartless  and  sensual  miscreant,  Charles,*  held,  at 
this  time,  his  court  at  Whitehall,  and  London  was  crammed 
with  all  the  gay  and  thoughtless  in  England.  Every  one 
knows,  or,  at  least,  ought  to  know,  what  society  was  in  this 
reign;  a  reign  in  which  Gates,  Dangerfield,  Blood,  and 
other  such  ruffians,  were  not  only  allowed  to  live,  but  were  even 
patronized  and  sheltered  by  the  Court.  This  was  the  age  in 
which  the  witty  and  talented,  but  depraved  Rochester, 
roamed  about;  at  one  time  amusing  the  rabble  in  the  guise 
of  a  charlatan — at  another,  frightening  the  credulous  out  of 
their  wits  in  the  garb  of  an  astrologer:  and,  not  (infrequently, 
obtaining,  by  the  latter  means,  secrets  from  those  by  whom  he 
was  surrounded  at  court,  which  gave  him  a  fearful  ascend- 

*  Those  who  have  reflected  on  the  life  and  actions  of  this  king,  will 
not,  I  am  sure,  think  these  epithets  misapplied;  for,  a  more  base  and 
worthless  character  than  (  harles  never  disgraced  the  throne  of 
England,  or  England  herself.  It  is  not  a  little  curious,  that  the  two 
sovereigns  who  are  known  by  the  endearing  names  of  "  good  Queen 
Bess,"  and  "  the  Merry  Monarch,"  were  without  their  equals  in  per- 
fidy. Even  those  who  are  loudest  in  their  praises  of  Elizabeth, 
cannot  conceal  her  vices,  while  the  frightful  enormities  of  Charles  the 
Second  are  winked  at  by  none.  This  wretched  man  was,  from  his 
youth,  profligate  and  abandoned;  and,  after  putting  many  to  death  for 
professing  the  Catholic  faith,  he  received,  in  his  dyi.ng  hour,  the 
sacrament  from  the  hands  of  a  Catholic  priest,  and,  turning  his  back 
upon  a  minister  of  that  church  he  had  supported  during  his  reign,  he 
breathed  out  his  soul  surrounded  by  the  depraved  minions  of  his 
court !  This  is  a  frightful  picture,  but  it  is  a  true  one. 


224  TALES  or  oriiKii  DAYS. 

ancy  over  them.  The  civil  wars  had  made  many  needy  and 
desperate,  and  many  who  had  once  lived  in  arllnence  were 
content  to  subsist  upon  the  bounty  of  the  powerful  and 
vicious.  Licentiousness  and  vice  had  reached  their  utmost 
height,  and  to  be  virtuous  was  to  be  an  object  of  ridicule  and 
contempt. 

It  would,  then,  have  been  wonderful  indeed  if  Roger  had 
remained  three  weeks  in  London  without  contamination; 
more  especially  in  the  company  of  Hcrrick,  whose  manners 
were  as  loose  as  his  wealth  was  boundless. 

Unaccustomed  to  a  life  of  riot  and  debauchery,  Clevelly 
soon  began  to  feel  the  effects  of  indulging  in  such  excesses, 
and,  having  been  confined  to  his  chamber  one  day  by  indis- 
position, he  retired  to  bed  early;  but  not  to  sleep,  for  his 
fevered  brain  forbade  it.  He  lay  till  long  after  the  midnight 
chimes  had  sounded;  it  was  then  that  he  slept,  but  dreams  of 
a  dark  and  fearful  kind  haunted  his  slumbers.  He  beheld,  as 
if  reflected  in  a  mirror,  the  churchyard  of  his  native  village, 
and  he  looked  and  saw  a  newly-formed  grave,  on  which  some 
friends  of  the  departed  had  scattered  a  profusion  of  wild 
flowers,  now  fast  fading  in  the  noori-day  sun — and  anon,  the 
scene  changed,  and  a  dark  cloud  rolled  before  him,  and,  as  it 
dissolved,  an  awful  scene  was  disclosed.  He  beheld  a  figure 
like  himself  bow  before  a  throne  of  dazzling  brightness,  on 
which  sat  one  whose  countenance  shone  like  the  face  of  the 
prophet  when  he  descended  from  Mount  Sinai,  and  ten 
thousand  celestial  beings  were  gathered  around.  Suddenly, 
a  voice  loud  and  fearful  pealed  through  the  vault,  of  heaven, 
and  one  of  giant  size  and  height  appeared,  and  claimed  the 
soul  of  him  who  had  thus  humbled  himself.  Then  came 
forth  one  arrayed  in  white,  and  low  she  bowed,  and  in  meek 
and  piteous  accents  supplicated  for  the  soul  of  him  who 
knelt.  And  the  figure  was  that  of  his  deserted  love,  his 
fondly-devoted  Alice !  He  started  from  his  couch  with  a 
deep  groan  of  anguish;  cold  drops  of  moisture  stood  on  his 
brow;  he  essayed  to  pray,  but  his  tongue  moved  noiselessly, 
his  parched  lips  quivered  with  agony,  and  he  sunk  back  in  a 
swoon. 

When  he  recovered,  the  first  rays  of  the  morning  sun 
gleamed  on  the  latticed  window  of  his  chamber.  Throwing 
himself  on  his  knees,  he  implored  mercy  for  his  numerous 
sins,  and  prayed  with  an  intensity  like  that  of  a  criminal  \\lio 
is  about  to  be  sacrificed  to  the  offended  laws  of  his  country. 
Tears,  bitter  scalding  tears,  such  as  he  had  never  shed  before, 


ROGER    CLEVELLY.  22') 

rolled  down  his  hectic  cheek,  ana  his  faltering  tongue  poured 
forth  the  anguish  of  his  troubled  spirit. 

A  gentle  tap  at  the  door  aroused  him  from  his  recumbent 
posture;  he  opened  it,  and  Herrick  entered  in  his  gown  and 
slippers. 

"  Good  morrow,  Bully  Roger,"  said  he,  "  what  has  troubled 
ye  so  much,  my  good  friend:1  You  look  scared." 

"  Oh,  Herrick!"  replied  Roger,  "  1  am  sick  at  heart;  this 
night  has  disclosed  to  me  such  awful" 

"  Pshaw!"  interrupted  Herrick;  "  then  you  have  been  only 
dreaming — by  this  light  I  thought  so;  for,  as  I  lay  in  the 
next  chamber,  1  could  hear  you  mutter  and  exclaim  in  your 
sleep.  Why,  thou  art  not  cast  down  because  thou  hast  had  a 
dream.  Courage,  man;  what  will  the  gallants  of  Fleet-street 
say  to  thee,  if  it  should  come  to  their  ears?" 

"Peace,"  said  Clevelly,  hastily;  "I  have  had  such  a 
warning  in  that  dream,  that  I  would  not  stay  another  day  in 
London,  were  it  to  obtain  the  treasures  of  the  east — no, 
Herrick,  no  earthly  power  shall  keep  me  here;  to-day  I  set 
off  for  Winkleigh.  If  thou  art  still  my  friend,  thou  wilt  bear 
me  company." 

It  was  in  vain  that  Herrick  attempted  to  turn  him  from  his 
determination;  he  was  alike  insensible  to  reasoning  or  ridicule; 
and,  ere  the  morning  was  far  advanced,  they  quitted  London, 
and  were  on  their  road  to  Winkleigh. 

Nothing  worthy  of  relation  occurred  during  their  journey, 
which  was  one  of  difficulty  in  those  days.  Roger  was 
moody  and  thoughtful,  and  at  times  a  prey  to  the  deepest 
melancholy,  which  all  the  jokes  and  witticisms  of  his  friend 
could  not  dispel. 

Day  had  bfegan  to  dawn  when  they  arrived  in  sight  of  the 
village  of  Winkleigh.  A  faint  streak  of  light  appeared  in 
the  east,  but  not  a  single  chimney  as  yet  sent  forth  its  wreath 
of  smoke,  so  grateful  to  the  eye  of  the  weary  traveller. 
Every  window  and  door  was  fastened,  and  Roger  beheld  with 
a  moistened  eye,  his  house  and  mill,  which  reared  its  long 
vanes  high  above  the  surrounding  houses. 

Old  Dorcas,  aroused  from  her  slumbers  by  the  arrival  of 
her  young  master  and  his  companion,  immediately  set  about 
preparing  breakfast;  but,  as  she  did  so,  the  miller  could  per- 
ceive that  she  was  unusually  dejected.  He  dreaded  to  ask 
after  Alice  when  he  first  entered,  as  many  do  who  are 
prepared  for  the  worst,  yet  are  loth  to  have  their  fears 
confirmed;  but  he  could  now  no  longer  delay  the  question. 


220  TALES  OF  OTHER  DAYS. 

How  shall  we  describe  his  feelings  upon  receiving  the  now? 
of  the  maiden's  death?  There  are  some  living  who  have 
been  thus  stripped  of  all  they  loved  in  this  world;  but,  can 
they  describe  their  agony  at  the  harrowing  moment  which 
makes  them  acquainted  with  their  loss?  No.  All  that 
poets  wrote  or  minstrels  snug  would  fall  short  of  the  descrip- 
tion;— how,  then,  shall  we  paint  the  anguish  of  the  soul- 
struck  lover? 

His  first  torrent  of  grief  being  over,  the  young  miller  in- 
quired when  and  how  she  died. 

"  Alas!"  replied  Dorcas,  "  she  took  your  leaving  her  so 
much  to  heart,  and  especially  the  cruel  letter  you  sent  her, 
that" 

"  Ha!"  cried  Roger,  starting  on  his  feet,  and  staring 
wildly,  "  what  letter '! — a  letter,  say  ye ? — I  wrote  none — 
where  is  it  ?" 

Here  Herrick  interposed.  "  'Twas  the  vile  art  of  some 
cursed  rival,  my  good  friend,"  said  he.  "  Now,  as  I  wear  a 
sword,  it  shall  drink  his  base  blood." 

"  'Twill  not  bring  her  back  again,  poor  innocent,"  said  the 
dame;  "  a  fairer  maid,  or  one  more  gentle,  never  sun  shone 
on;  but  she  is  gone — they  buried  her  yesterday.  Alas!  that 
I  should  ever  live  to  see  this  day!" 

Roger  quitted  the  room  at  this  moment,  with  a  hurried 
step,  threw  his  cloak  around  him,  and  strode  towards  the 
churchyard.  He  soon  discovered  the  grave,  the  likeness  of 
which  he  had  beheld  in  his  dream.  There  was  the  fresh- 
turned  earth,  and  the  scattered  flowers,  now  withered  and 
loveless,  but  newly  placed.  He  had  scarcely  reached  the 
spot,  when  he  was  conscious  that  he  had  been  followed, 
and,  turning  quickly  round,  he  beheld  Herrick.  He  saw 
before  him  the  author  of  his  sufferings,  and,  giving  vent  to 
his  indignation,  he  upbraided  him  in  bitter  terms.  Herrick 
heard  him  with  a  smile,  and  tauntingly  bade  him  rcmemlicr 
that  he  alone  was  the  cause  of  all.  This  reproach  stung  him 
to  the  soul,  and  he  groaned  bitterly,  as  Herrick,  with  a 
malicious  satisfaction,  ran  over  a  list  of  his  excesses  while  in 
London. 

"  So!"  said  he,  folding  his  arms,  and  looking  on  the 
wretched  young  man,  as  the  basilisk  is  fabled  to  look  upon 
its  victim;  "  so  this  is  my  reward  for  having  treated  \<.n 
like  a  noble.  \\  as  it  I  who  introduced  ye  to  that  pn-ity 
wench  with  whom  you  were  so  taken,  and  who  drew  so 
largely  <>n  your  purse,  that  you  were  fain  to  come  iu  me 


ROGKR    CJ.KYEM.Y.  22" 

for  a  supply? — Or  was  it  I  alone  who  helftad  to  fleece  the 
young  Templar,  whose  money  burthened  hini? — Was  it 
I ?'» 

"  Peace,  peace,  malicious  fiend!"  cried  Clevelly;  "  hadst 
thou  the  heart  of  a  man,  thou  wouldst  pity  my  distress.  Get 
thee  gone  from  my  sight.  Would  I  hud  been  laid  ii>  my 
grave  ere  I  had  met  with  thoe!" 

A  wild  laugh  was  Herrick's  only  reply,  but  it  stung  Roger 
to  the  soul,  and  he  quickly  clutched  the  handle  of  his  sword, 
which,  however,  with  all  his  strength,  he  could  not  draw  from 
the  scabbard. 

"  Desist,"  said  Herrick;  "  take  thy  hand  from  thy  toasting 
iron,  or  I  will  paralyze  thy  frame,  and  make  ihee  as  helpless 
as  an  aged  man." 

Clevelly  knew  too  well  the  power  of  Herrick,  by  whose 
means  his  sword  had  been  rendered  useless,  and  he  groaned 
bitterly. 

"  Pitiful  minion,"  said  Herrick,  glancing  fiercely  on  him; 
"  I  thought  thee  possessed  of  a  firmer  soul; — will  thy  whining 
bring  back  the  dead?" 

The  miller  made  no  reply,  but,  covering  his  face  with  his 
hands,  wept  bitterly,  while  his  companion  beheld  his  distress 
with  evident  satisfaction. 

"  Leave  me,"  said  Roger,  imploringly. 

"  Nay,"  replied  Herrick,  with  a  sneer,  "  you  had  better 
quit  this  place,  for  yonder  comes  he  who  was  to  have  been 
your  brother-in-law." 

The  miller  raised  his  head,  and  perceived  ;li:it  Herrick 
spoke  truly,  for  William  Buckland,  the  brother  o!  'hi?  departed 
Alice,  leaping  over  a  low  stile,  entered  the  chm  ehyard,  and 
advanced  towards  them. 

"Ha!  thou  damnable  villain,"  cried  he,  "  art  thou  returned 
with  thy  vile  companion  to  exult  over  her,  now  she  is  in  her 
.grave  ?" 

"  Oh,  William,''  replied  Clevelly,  "  do  not  upbraid  me; 
'tis  punishment  enough  to  look  upon  this  green  bank — my 
heart  is  broken." 

"  Nay,  thy  hypocrisy  shall  not  screen  thee,"  s.ii<l  the  fiery 
youth;  "I  yesterday  swore  upon  this  grave  that  I  would 
revenge  her  death;  therefore  prepare,  for  one  of  us  must 
fall." 

He  unclasped  the  cloak  in  which  he  was  muffled,  threw  it 
on  the  ground,  and,  drawing  his  sword,  called  upon  Clevelly 
to  defend  himself.  Roger  essayed  to  unsheath  his  weapon, 


228  TALES  OF  OTHER  DAYS. 

but  his  tremblirtg  harm  refused  its  office; — when  Horrick 
spoke: — 

"Courage,  Master  Clevclly,"  said  he;  "out  with  your  fox, 
and  show  this  clodpole  a  little  of  your  fence." 

•'  I  may  be  left  to  try  yours,"  remarked  young  Buckland, 
"but  he  at  present  is  my  man." 

"  We  shall  see  that  anon,  boy,"  replied  Herrick,  with  bitter 
emphasis.  "  Take  your  stand,  young  sir,  my  friend  is  ready 
for  you." 

As  he  spoke,  Roger  threw  off  his  cloak,  then,  stepping  a 
few  paces  aside,  stood  opposite  young  Buckland,  and  waited 
for  his  attack. 

The  miller,  during  his  stay  in  London,  had  not,  with  other 
accomplishments,  neglected  to  improve  himself  in  the  art  of 
defence,  but  it  proved  of  little  use  against  the  strength  and 
impetuosity  of  his  adversary;  and,  ere  they  had  exchanged 
half  a  dozen  passes,  Clevelly  fell  on  the  green  sward,  pierced 
through  the  body.  The  sword  of  William  Buckland  was 
already  descending  to  finish  the  work  of  death,  when  Herrick, 
unsheathing  his  rapier,  parried  the  thrust  with  great  dexterity, 
and  presented  his  point  so  as  to  keep  off  the  infuriate  young 
man.  Enraged  at  this  interference,  he  attacked  Herrick 
with  great  fury,  but  at  the  first  lunge,  his  sword  bent  like  a 
bull-rush,  and  the  blade  and  handle  became  red-hot!  With 
a  shout  of  terror  he  dashed  the  weapon  to  the  ground,  and 
fled  from  the  churchyard  with  the  speed  of  lightning,  not 
doubting  but  that  he  had  crossed  swords  with  the  fiend  him- 
self. Herrick  smiled  at  his  affright,  then  sheathing  his  weapon, 
directed  his  attention  to  the  wounded  youth,  whose  blood  was 
fast  flowing  from  the  deep  wound  he  had  received — so  fast, 
indeed,  that  nothing  but  prompt  assistance  could  prevent  his 
dying  on  the  spot.  Raising  the  body  in  his  arms,  Herrick 
bore  it  home,  and  summoned  Dorcas  to  his  assistance,  who 
was  about  to  send  for  a  surgeon,  when  he  interposed,  and, 
after  placing  the  body  in  Roger's  own  chamber,  began  to  strip 
and  examine  the  wound,  which  he  dressed  with  great  care 
and  skill.  An  hour  had  passed  ere  Roger  returned  to  con- 
sciousness, and  when  he  did,  he  found  Herrick  and  Dorcas 
watching  by  his  side.  • 

The  arrival  of  one  or  two  of  the  neighbours  was  at  the 
same  time  announced,  and  they  entered  the  room  with  open 
mouths,  and  with  the  evident  intention  of  demanding  an  ex- 
planation of  the  strange  scene  in  the  churchyard;  but  Dorcas 
•very  unceremoniously  showed  them  into  another  room,  and 


ROGER  CLEVELLY.  229 

bidding  them  wait  a  few  moments,  returned  to  her  patient, 
whom  she  found  supported  by  pillows,  in  earnest,  though 
faint,  conversation  with  Herrick.  A  word  or  two  which 
she  overheard,  induced  her  to  draw  back,  and  she  saw  that 
Herrick  held  a  parchment  in  the  one  hand,  and  a  pen  in  the 
other,  which  he  offered  to  Clevelly. 

"  Pshaw!  this  is  foolery,"  said  he,  perceiving  him  irresolute; 
"  subscribe  your  name,  and  health  and  boundless  wealth  are 
yours  for  years  to  come." 

Roger's  reply  was  scarcely  audible;  but  she  could  distinguish 
that  he  refused  to  sign. 

"  Then  die  in  thine  obstinacy  and  guilt,"  said  Herrick;  and 
he  was  turning  from  the  bed,  when  Roger  motioned  him  to 
return — and  again  they  spoke  together;  when,  suddenly,  the 
wounded  man  sprung  up  convulsively  in  the  bed,  and,  clasp- 
ing his  hands  wildly  together,  cried — 

"  Aroint  thee,  fiend ! — In  the  name  of  Heaven,  I  charge 
thee  be  gone!" 

Scarcely  were  these  words  uttered  when  Herrick's  frame 
seemed  to  dilate  and  tremble — his  eyes  streamed  forth  a 
supernatural  light — and,  with  a  diabolical  smile  of  disap- 
pointed malice,  the  tempter  immediately  disappeared  ?  No 
light  or  vapour  accompanied  his  departure — it  seemed  as 
though  he  had  suddenly  dissolved  into  air.  Dorcas  and  the 
neighbours  rushed  into  the  chamber,  and,  as  one  of  them 
drew  aside  the  window  curtains,  the  morning  sun  burst  with 
all  its  radiance  into  the  apartment;  it  fell  upon  the  face  of  * 
the  wounded  man — now  clad  in  the  pallid  livery  of  death, 
and  disclosed  to  their  view  all  that  was  mortal  of  the  ill-fated 
Miller  of  Winkleighl 


200  TALKS  OF  OTHER  DAYS. 


HAVILAND  HALL. 

The  Baron  streaked  his  darke  browne  face, 

And  turned  his  heade  aside, 
To  wipe  away  the  starting  teare 

He  proudlye  strove  to  hide. 

"  Here,  take  her,  Child  of  Elie,"  he  saide, 
And  gave  her  lilly  white  hande — 

"  Here,  take  my  deare  and  only  child" 

Child  of  Elle. 

THE  experience  which  Henr}'  the  Seventh  had  acquired  in 
his  youth,  whilst  it)  Knyland  and  during-  his  exile  abroad, 
from  observing  the  proud  and  factious  spirit  <  f  the  English 
nobility,  taught  him,  as  the  first  step  towanls  securing  a  quiet 
possession  of  the  throne,  to  curb  that  turbulent  disposition 
which  existed  among  the  powerful  barons,  and  which  had 
been  so  fatal  to  the  peace  of  the  nation,  during  the  reigns  of 
his  predecessors.  Disdaining  all  control,  these  feudal  lords 
maintained  a  number  of  followers,  and  encouraged  all  the 
needy  and  mercenary  who  could  boast  of  any  skill  in  arms — 
an  accomplishment  surpassing  all  others  in  those  days,  when 
might  so  frequently  triumphed  over  law  and  justice.  The 
sanguinary  and  devastating  wars  of  the  rival  Roses  had 
created  a  spirit  of  disaffection  and  rebellion  throughout  the 
land.  Travelling  was  at  all  times  dangerous" and,  even  in 
*  London,  though  surrounded  with  walls,  the  li\es  and  pro- 
perties of  the  citizens  were  not  always  secure.  During  the 
reign  of  this  crafty  and  politic  prince,  the  arts  were  encou- 
raged, commerce  revived,  and  the  carriages  lately  employed 
in  the  service  of  the  contending  parties,  were  now  laden  with 
merchandise;  then  many  villages,  and  even  some  towns,  in 
England  first  arose;  and  the  gloom  and  desolation  which  had 
overspread  the  kingdom  gradually  dispersed.  The  people, 
tired  of  a  long  and  sanguinary  civil  war,  gladly  hailed  the 
return  of  peace,  and  were  not  to  be  easily  roused  again  into 
rebellion,  as  may  be  seen  from  the  failure  of  the  two  attempts 
of  Simnel  and  VVarbeck.* 

*  The  adventures  of  this  youth  far  exceed  the  wildest  fiction,  ami 
his  untimely  fate  cannot  but  excite  our  commiseration.  His  real  pre- 
tensions are  to  this  day  a  subject  of  dispute,  for  we  are  told  that  i!ie 
confession  extorted  from  him  by  Henry  was  so  full  of  contradiction, 
that  it  raised  doubts  in  the  minds  of  some  who  were  before  aispo^d 
to  consider  him  an  impostor. 


IIA\M,AMJ     HALL.  '2;>1 

During  the  time  of  the  violent,  struggles  we  huve  alluded 
to,  tiiere  stood,  between  the  town  of  Fairford  and  the  little 
village  of  Marston  Maisey,  in  Gloucestershire,  a  castellated 
building,  held  by  Sir  John  Haviland,  a  knight  of  an  ancient 
and  honourable  faiuilv,  whose  ancestors  had  dwelt  there 
from  the  time  of  the  Norman  conquest.  He  was  devotedly 
attached  to  the  house  of  Lancaster,  and,  when  an  appeal  to 
arms  was  made  by  the  two  factions,  he  sold  the  greater  part 
of  his  estates,  ami  joined  the  standard  of  Henry,  with  his  two 
sons,  who  were  destined  to  return  no  more.  At  the  battle 
of  Mortimer's  Cross,  Robert,  the  eldest,  was  slain  by  an 
arrow,  and  the  youngest  fell  at  Hexham,  while  bravely 
defending  his  lather  from  the  attack  of  a  band  r,f  spearmen, 
led  by  Sir  William  Malt  ravers,  a  knight  of  £'--'"''C-  stature, 
who  savagely  slew  him,  after  he  had  been  be;iio<i  down  anil 
disarmed,  lu  this  battle.  Sir  John  himself  rei—'^ed  several 
wounds,  some  of  which  were  too  serious  to  admit  of  his  ever 
takinsf  the  field  again.  A  cross-bow  bolt  had  shuttered  the 
bone  of  his  left  arm  so  dreadfully,  that  it  was  rendered 
entirely  useless. 

Vexed  at  being  thus  incapacitated,  and  inwardly  vowing  to 
be  revenged  on  the  destroyer  of  hi?  son,  the  bereaved  father 
returned  to  his  home  almost  heart-broken.  Perhaps  he 
would  have  sought  his  own  death  by  rushing  into  the  midst 
of  his  enemies,  had  not  the  recollection  of  his  daughter,  now 
fast"  growinsr  up  to  womanhood,  withheld  him.  Who  would 
protect  her  in  those  unsettled  times,  if  he  should  full?  It  was 
the  gentle  Agnes  who  made  his  life  supportable,  and  in  her 
society  he  sought  to  bury  for  awhile  the  recollection  of  his 
loss.  But  there  were  times  when  the  remembrance  of  his 
sons'  death  flashed  across  his  brain,  and  made  the  unhappy- 
father  curse  the  faction  that  had  torn  asunder"  the  ties  of 
friendship  and  kindred.  Robert  had  died  in  his  arms,  as  he 
v.iinly  endeavoured  to  pluck  the  arrow  from  his  breast,  and 
Edward  was  struck,  mangled  and  bleeding,  to  the  ground 
before  his  face. 

The  remembrance  of  those  scenes  would  often  recur,  when 
the  pain  of  his  many  wounds  had  occasioned  a  temporary 
delirium;  and  nought  but  the  attentions  of  his  beloved  child 
could  soothe  his  mind,  and  make  existence  endurable.  Beauti- 
ful she  was — tit  subject  f>-r  a  poet's  pen,  or  painter's  pencil: 
and  her  mind  was  tilted  for  such  a  shrine.  Although  she  had 
numbered  scarce  twenty  summers,  there  lacked  not  wealthy 
suitors  for  such  perfection. 


2.'52  TALES    OF    OTHER    DAYS. 

Her  father  was  a  man  of  great  learning  for  that  rude  ago, 
when  some  of  England's  stoutest  knights  could  neiiher  read 
nor  write;  but  he  was  not  the  less  skilled  in  warlike  exer- 
cises, and  had  done  good  service  on  the  part  of  the  weak- 
minded  Henry  and  his  Amazon  Queen;  indeed,  this  had 
considerably  reduced  his  possessions;  and,  when  he  returned 
home,  the  coldness  of  those  of  his  neighbours  who  had  not 
taken  part  in  the  quarrel,  stung  him  to  the  quick.  But  he 
concealed  his  indignation,  and  appeared  but  little  abroad, 
seldom  venturing  to  leave  his  estate,  unless  upon  particular 
occasions. 

Several  years  had  elapsed  since  the  death  of  his  sons, 
during  which  time  the  deadly  feuds  of  the  Roses  had  raged 
with  unabating  fury.  At  length  the  Yorkists  prevailed,  and 
Henry  was  in  their  power;  but  not  long  after,  Queen  Mar- 
garet landed  in  England,  accompanied  by  her  son,  resolving 
to  try  the  issue  of  another  battle;  and,  encamped  near 
Tewkesbury,  she  waited  the  approach  of  Edward. 

Sir  John  had  heard  of  the  landing  of  the  queen,  and, 
although  he  forgot  not  the  heavy  losses  he  had  sustain-  d  bv 
espousing  her  cause,  he  would  have  gladly  joined  her 
standard,  had  not  his  wounds  rendered  him  incapable  of 
bearing  arms.  The  knight  was  well  aware  that  a  battle  must 
be  foujrht  as  soon  as  the  two  armies  met  each  other,  and  he 
anxiously  awaited  the  result  of  the  combat. 

One  evening  in  the  month  of  May,  Sir  John  sat  in  a  small 
room,  which  he  used  as  a  study:  he  had  once  or  twice 
attempted  to  read,  but  the  agitation  of  his  mind  would  not 
allow  him.  His  jewelled  fingers  held  down  the  leaves  of  a 
splendidly  illuminated  book,  but  his  eye  wandered  from  the 
page,  und  glanced  sorrowfully  on  a  suit  of  battered  armour, 
which  stood  in  one  corner  of  the  room.  A  lance,  a  sword, 
and  a  mace  hung  against  the  wall;  they  had  been  once 
wielded  by  a  vigorous  and  skilful  hand,  but  were  now  to  be 
used  by  their  possessor  no  more !  He  thought  on  the  time 
when  he  had  vaulted  on  his  horse  amidst  the  shouts  of  his 
retainers,  armed  in  that  harness  which  he  was  never  to  fill 
again:  he  thought  also  on  the  fate  of  his  two  sons,  and  then 
on  his  only  remaining  child,  his  beautiful  and  virtunus  Agnes: 
no  marvel  that  his  book  was  unheeded.  He  sat  for  some 
time  in  this  mood,  until  night  had  closed  in,  when  the  clatter 
of  horses'  hoofs  struck  on  his  ear.  He  listened  attentively. 
Had  the  battle  been  fought? — It  might  be  a  party  of  the 
conquerors  come  to  burn  and  spoil  his  dwelling — no,  it  was  a 


HAV1LAND    HALL.  233 

single  horseman.  Scarcely  had  the  thought  risen  in  his 
mind,  when  a  servant  entered,  and  informed  him  that  a 
traveller  who  waited  without,  required  a  night's  shelter  under 
his  root',  having  been  attacked  by  a  band  of  men,  who  had 
slain  his  servant.  The  knight  commanded  them  to  show  the 
stranger  every  attention,  and,  having  descended  into  the  hall, 
welcomed  him  with  much  courtesy. 

In  answer  to  Sir  John's  inquiries,  the  stranger,  in  a  few 
words,  informed  him  that  his  name  was  Godfrey  Maltravers. 
and  that  he  was  on  his  way  to  Cirencester,  when  he  was  way- 
laid by  a  party  of  men,  who  killed  his  only  attendant,  and 
that  he  had  escaped  through  the  fleetness  of  his  horse. 

"  Ay,  ay,"  said  Sir  John,  "  some  of  the  cursed  fore-riders 
belonging  to  one  of  the  armies  which  must  now  lie  in  the 
neighbourhood;  but,  I  hope,  sir,  they  have  not  despoiled  you 
of  any  valuables  ?" 

"  No,  nothing,  save  a  jerkin  and  hose,  which  my  poor 
knave  had  strapped  behind  him." 

"  'Twas  lucky  that  you  escaped  with  your  life,  sir;  these 
are  unsettled  times,  and  the  strongest  arm  takes  most.  What 
ho !  Will,  a  flagon  of  malmsey  and  a  pasty,  for  my  guest." 

In  a  few  minutes  a  table  was  spread,  and  a  venison  pasty, 
together  with  a  large  gammon  of  bacon,  and  a  flagon  of  wine, 
were  set  before  the  stranger,  who  ate  heartily.  Having 
finished  his  repast,  he  begged  to  know  the  name  of  his  enter- 
tainer. 

On  the  knight's  replying  to  this  question,  the  stranger's  face 
was  flushed  for  a  moment,  and  then  turned  deadly  pale;  but 
Sir  John  noticed  it  not,  and  desired  a  servant  to  bid  the  Lady 
Agnes  attend  him.  She  shortly  entered,  and  was  introduced 
by  her  father  as  his  daughter — his  sole  remaining  child.  The 
breast  of  the  stranger  heaved,  and  a  burning  blush  passed 
across  his  fine  and  manly  countenance,  but  the  knight 
attributed  this  to  bashfulness;  his  guest  was  but  a  youth,  and 
had,  perhaps,  been  little  in  the  company  of  females;  but 
Godfrey's  emotion  was  occasioned  by  a  far  different  feeling. 
He  knew  that  his  father,  Sir  William  Maltravers,  was  the 
man  who  had  slain  the  son  of  his  kind  and  hospitable  enter- 
tainer, whose  hall  now  sheltered  him  in  a  time  of  danger  and 
uncertainty.  It  was  fortunate  that  Sir  John  knew  not  the 
name  of  the  destroyer  of  his  son  or  his  dwelling  might  have 
been  a  scene  of  violence,  perhaps  of  bloodshed,  but  he  had 
never  learnt  the  name  and  title  of  the  man  who  had  done  him 
such  irreparable  injury. 

x  -2 


234  TALKS  OF  OTHER  DAYS. 

The  beauty  of  Aeries  made  a  strong  impression  on  young1 
Maltravers,  who  more  than  ever  regretted  the  fierce  rashness 
of  his  father.  Ho  saw  clearly  that  there  was  little  hope  of  a 
union  wi'h  the  family  who  had  suffered  such  a  loss  iv  the 
hand  of  his  parent;  and  when  niirht  arrived,  he  retired  to 
rest,  his  mind  disturbed  by  a  multitude  of  painful  reflections. 
Sleep  fled  his  couch,  and  when  morning  dawned,  he  arose 
unrefreshed.  After  dressing:  himself,  and  preparing  for  his 
daparture,  he  passed  out  from  his  bed-chamber,  when  the 
first  object  he  beheld  was  Agnes. 

Great  was  his  astonishment  on  perceiving  her  at  so  early  an 
hour;  but,  ere  he  could  fitter  a  word,  she  moved  softly  away 
on  tiptoe,  and  waved  her  hand.  Godfrey  fol'owed  her  until 
she  had  descended  into  a  lower  apartment,  when  the  maiden, 
while  her  heart  throbbed  wildly,  said — 

"  Fly  from  this  place,  if  you  value  your  life,  sir!  you  are 
known  to  one  of  my  father's  men." 

"  Known,  dearest  lady?"  faltered  young  Maltravers. 

"  Ay,  known  as  the  son  of  the  fierce  man  who  destroyed 
my  poor  brother,"  replied  Agnes,  while  her  blue  eyes  swam 
with  tears;  "  but  fly,  if  you  would  not  surfer  a  dreadful  death. 
My  maid  told  me  yesterday,  that  our  falconer,  who  was  with 
my  father  at  Hexham,  swore  that  you  are  the  son  of  our 
enemy! — 'twill  soon  reach  my  father's  ear?." 

"  Oh,  dearest  lady,  how  shall  I  express  my  gratitude — but, 
believe  me,  I  had  no  share  in  your  brother's  death." 

"  Talk  not  of  that  now — quick,  to  the  stables,  and  ride 
hard,  for  my  father  will  soon  be  stirring." 

"  But  how  shall  I  pass  the  gate '!" 

"  I  have  the  keys  here — haste,  or  you  will  be  lost." 

She  led  the  way  to  the  stables,  and  Maltravers,  with  all 
haste,  saddled  his  horse.  The  gates  were  cautiouslv  unlocked. 
He  pressed  the  hand  of  Agues  to  his  lips,  while  his  sobs  im- 
peded his  voice;  but  the  danger  was  great,  and,  vaulting  on 
his  steed,  he  faltered  "  Farewell,"  and  soou  left  the  hall  be- 
hind him. 

Leaving  Godfrey  Maltravers  on  his  way  we  must  return 
to  Haviland  Hall. 

As  the  morning  advanced  the  knight  ar.  ^e,  and,  breakfast 
being  laid  in  a  small  room  adjoining  his  study,  he  waited  the 
presence  of  his  guest.  Agues  shortly  entered,  pale  and  de- 
jected. 

"  Why,  what  ails  thee,  my  child?"  inquired  Sir  John,  as  he 
kissed  her  pale  cheek,  "  thou  hast  been  weeping."  Agnes 


HAVM.AND     IIAI.L.  235 

pleaded  illness,  and  took  her  seat  by  her  father,  who  won- 
dered at  the  absence  of  his  »-nesi.  After  waiting1  for  some 
time,  a  servant  was  sent  to  rouse  him  from  his  slumbers, 
when  it  was  discovered  that  he  had  fled. 

The  old  knight  was  astonished  beyond  measure  at  the  dis- 
appearance of  his  <ruest,  and,  concluding-  that  he  was  some 
adventurer  who  had  paid  him  a  visit  with  a  sinister  intention, 
desired  his  servants  to  look  to  the  plate  and  other  valuables; 
when,  in  the  midst  of  the  confusion,  the  falconer  came,  and 
informed  his  master  that  he  had  entertained  the  son  of  his 
deadly  foe. 

Words  cannot  paint  the  astonishment  and  chagrin  of  Sir 
John,  upon  his  receiving  this  intelligence.  He  stood  for 
some  moments  as  if  paralyzed,  then,  stamping  furiously  on 
the  floor,  he  desired  that  his  park-keeper  should  attend  him, 
and,  striding;  into  his  study,  slammed  to  the  door  with  great 
violence,  while  Agnes,  alarmed  for  the  safety  of  the  fugitive, 
to  whose  flight  she  had  been  a  party,  flew  to  her  chamber  to 
conceal  her  agitation. 

In  the  meantime  her  father  paced  the  room  with  hurried 
step;  at  times  stopped  and  looked- on  his  battered  harness, 
then  struck  his  forehead  with  the  palm  of  his  hand,  and 
vented  his  rage  in  a  low  half-stifled  voice,  by  excitement 
rendered  inarticulate,  and  resembling  the  growl  of  an  angry 
wolf.  A  tap  at  the  door  of  the  study  roused  him. 

"  Enter"  he  cried;  arid  a  man  strode  into  the  room,  cap  in 
hand.  He  was  rather  under  the  ordinary  height,  but  broad- 
shouldered  and  muscular,  his  face  was  full,  but  distinctly 
marked,  and  his  hair  was  cut  quite  close  to  his  head;  his  neck 
was  bare  and  brawny,  and  his  face,  by  constant  exposure  to 
the  weather,  had  become  of  a  dark  brown.  His  dress  con- 
sisted of  a  coarse  tunic  of  green,  with  trunk  hose  of  red 
serge,  and  buskins  of  buft'  leather.  A  snort  sword  hung  at  a 
belt,  which  was  buckled  tight  round  his  body.  His  whole 
appearance  bespoke  the  perfect  woodsman. 

"  Wat  Stapler,"  said  the  knight,  "  thou  hast  been  a  faithful 
follower  of  mine  for  these  twenty  years — Harkee,  I  have 
need  of  thy  assistance;  quick,  don  thy  jazerant."* 

"  I  have  left  it  with  Will,  the  armourer,  at  Fairford,  to  be 
mended,"  said  Wat. 

"  Take   this,  then,"   reaching  a  jazerant   from   the  wall: 

*  JAZERANT. — A  frock  of  twisted  or  linked  mail,  without  sleeve*, 
somewhat  lighter  than  the  hauberk  worn  by  the  knights. 


it>  TALES    OF    OT11KR    DAYS. 

"  haste,  and  on  with  it;  and,  look  ye,  get  your  bow  and  three 
of  your  best  shafts;  begone!  and  come  to  me  as  soon  as  thou 
art  ready." 

Wat  left  the  room,  but  in  a  few  minutes  returned,  armed 
with  the  knight's  mailed  coat,  and  a  sallet  or  Jight  iron 
cap.  He  carried  his  bow  in  his  hand,  and  bore  on  his  elbow 
a  small  target  or  buckler,  like  those  worn  by  the  archers  of 
that  period. 

"  That's  my  nimble  servitor,"  said  the  knight;  "  and  now 
saddle  Cob,  my  gelding,  take  the  bloodhound,  and  ride  after 
the  fellow  who  left  here  this  morning: — and,  harkee,  Wat," 
in  a  suppressed  voice,  "  see  that  he  travel  no  more — thou 
knowest  what  I  mean?  thou  hast  sharp  shafts,  and  a  trusty 
bow — give  him  not  the  same  vantage  as  thou  wouldst  thine 
own  enemy — he  is  mine!  shoot  him  from  his  horse,  ere  he 
know  that  thou  art  near  him !" 

Wat  stopped  not  a  moment  to  question  this  command:  it 
was  enough  that  it  was  given  by  his  master,  whose  word 
with  him  was  law.  In  less  than  five  minutes  he  passed  out 
on  the  knight's  own  horse,  at  full  speed,  followed  by  the 
hound.  After  riding  a  short  distance,  Wat  distinguished  the 
marks  of  the  fugitive's  horse's  hoofs,  and  the  dog  was  imme- 
diately laid  on.  He  well  knew  that  Maltravers  would  find 
it  difficult  to  pick  his  way  over  a  part  of  the  country  with 
which  he  was  unacquainted,  and  he  doubted  not  that  he 
should  come  up  with  him  before  he  had  got  far. 

Godfrey  Maltravers  was  at  no  great  distance.  He  heard 
the  yelp  of  the  dog,  and  a  cold  tremor  ran  through  his  frame, 
as  he  discovered  that  he  was  pursued.  Wat,  though  he 
could  not  see  his  victim,  knew  well  that  he  was  not  (ar  off; 
he  therefore  increased  his  pace,  and  moved  on  rapidly.  In 
the  mean  time,  the  object  of  his  pursuit  had  struck  out  of  the 
road,  and  gallopped  across  the  country.  It  was  not  long 
before  a  brook  stopped  his  progress:  he  beheld  it  with  joy. 
as  he  well  knew  it  was  the  only  refuge  from  the  enemy  that 
tracked  him. 

"  Now,  my  good  steed,"  said  he,  "  bear  thy  master 
through  this  trial,  or  he  will  never  press  thy  trusty  sides 
again." 

He  plunged  into  the  brook  as  he  spoke.  The  stream  was 
swollen,  but  the  noble  animal  swam  with  its  master  for  several 
yards,  when  the  water  became  shallower.  Fearing  to  land 
again,  Godfrey  dashed  down  the  stream,  which  ran  through 
a  wood  at  a  little  distance,  and  arrived  there  just  in  time  to 


HAVILAND    HALL.  237 

escape  from  the  view  of  his  pursuers,  who  came  up  to  the 
brook  as  .ie  entered  the  wood.  Wat  swore  deeply,  on  find- 
ing- that  he  was  baulked. 

"  Ah!  'tis  of  no  use,  Fangs,"  said  he  to  the  hound,  as  he 
saw  the  animal  run  sniffing  up  and  down  the  bank  of  the 
stream.  "  We  have  been  tracking  an  old  hand;  let  us  both 
return  and  prepare  our  backs  for  the  cudgel." 

After  several  fruitless  endeavours  to  regain  the  scent,  Wat 
turned  his  horse's  head  towards  home.  He  soon  reached  the 
hall,  and,  having  replaced  Cob  in  the  stable,  he  repaired  to 
Sir  John's  apartment. 

"  Well,  Wat,"  said  the  knight,  eagerly,  "  hast  thou  re- 
venged me?" 

"  No,"  replied  he,  sullenly,  scarce  knowing  what  to  say — 
"  he  has  escaped." 

"  Ha!  thou  knave!"  cried  Sir  John,  starting  on  his  feet; 
"  escaped,  did'st  thou  say  ?  Then  am  I  foiled,  and  through 
thy  mischance — there,  villain,  take  with  that  thy  master's 
malison !" 

As  he  spoke,  he  struck  Wat  a  violent  blow  on  his  broad 
chest,  which,  spite  of  the  jazerant  he  wore,  made  the  woods- 
man  stagger,  and  proved  that  the  knight  had  one  powerful 
arm  left.  The  blood  mounted  in  Wat's  dark  face — his  eyes 
flashed  fire,  and,  with  a  thrust  of  his  hand,  he  sent  the  knight 
reeling  to  the  wall — then  grasped  the  handle  of  his  short 
sword,  which  he  half  unsheathed;  but  it  fell  back  harmlessly 
in  its  scabbard;  its  wearer's  head  sunk  upon  his  breast — a 
tear  fell  on  the  floor,  but  the  foot  of  the  woodsman  was 
quickly  drawn  over  it,  and  he  stood  motionless  for  several 
moments,  without  speaking. 

"  Wat,"  said  the  knight,  after  a  long  pause,  "  thou  hast 
raised  thy  hand  against  thy  master." 

"  I  have,"  interrupted  Wat;  "  and  will  not  the  poor  worm 
turn  on  the  foot  that  treads  it  down? — I  am  your  vassal,  'tis 
true;  I  have  eaten  of  your  bread  these  twenty  years,  and 
never  received  a  blow  before.  You  are  my  master,  or  your 
blood  should  wash  this  floor!" 

"  These  are  high  words  for  one  of  thy  stamp,"  said  the 
knight,  in  a  tone  of  remonstrance,  fearing  to  anger  the  reso- 
lute woodsman,  whose  temper  was  always  mild  and  gentle, 
except  when  roused.  "  A  rope  and  a  swing  from  the  wall 
would  have  been  thy  fate,  if  thou  hadst  some  masters;  but  thou 
nast  served  me  faithfully"- 
12 


238  TALES  Ci  OTHER  DAYS. 

"  And  been  struck  like  a  dog,  in  return,"  said  the  woods- 
man. 

"  Nay,  nay,  Wat,  dwell  not  on  that — but  how  came  the 
epringald  to  escape  ?" 

"  He  made  for  the  brook,  and  balked  the  hound — 'twas 
no  fault  of  mine." 

"  Well,  well,"  continued  the  knight,  in  a  calmer  tone,  "  it 
can't  be  helped  now;  but.  1  am  vexed  at  his  escape.  His 
father  slew  my  Edward  when  the  poor  boy  lay  on  the  ground 
disarmed  and  wounded." 

Sir  John  drew  his  hand  across  his  face  as  he  spoke,  and 
wiped  away  the  tear  which  hung  on  his  eyelid.  Wat's  rude 
nature  was  softened. 

"  My  honoured  master,"  said  he,  "  would  I  had  known  that 
yesternight — you  should  have  been  revenged." 

"  I  know  thee,  Wat — I  know  thee,"  said  the  knignt;  "and 
methinks  thou  hast  had  time  to  know  thy  master,  a:-.d  bear 
with  him  when  he  speaks  thee  harshly.  Here,  let  this  make 
amends.'" 

He  placed  several  gold  pieces  in  Wat's  hand.  The  woods- 
man received  the  money  on  his  broad  palm,  looked  earnestly 
at  it  for  several  moments,  then  let  it  slip  between  his  fingers, 
and  it  fell  on  the  floor. 

"  1  will  not  take  it,  Sir  John,"  he  said;  "  my  master's  love 
and  protection  is  the  only  wage  I  crave." 

He  then  abruptly  left  the  room,  before  the  knight  had  time 
to  reply. 

"  Strange  fellow!"  exclaimed  the  knight;  "  there's  not  a 
pampered  knave  on  my  poor  estate  who  possesses  half  thy 
feeling — thou,  at  least,  art  faithful." 

We  must  now  return  to  Godfrey,  whom  we  left,  after  he 
had  baffled  his  pursuer.  He  held  on  his  way  at  full  speed, 
until  he  had  quite  cleared  the  wood,  when  he  resolved  at  all 
hazard  to  inquire  of  the  next  person  he  met,  the  way  to  the 
town  of  Tewkesbury.  It  was  not  long  before  he  obtained 
the  necessary  information,  and  found  that  he  had  deviated 
considerably  from  the  right  road.  After  an  hour's  hard 
riding,  he  came  in  sight  of  the  town,  and  beheld  the  tents  of 
the  Lancastrian  forces  spread  over  the  fields;  while,  from 
one  of  the  largest,  the  queen's  banner  floated  in  the  breeze. 
Various  bodies  of  soldiers  were  in  motion,  and  their  armour 
and  weapons  flashed  brightly  in  the  morning  sun.  The  host 
of  figures  which  dotted  the  landscape  added  to  the  beauty  of 


HAVILAND    HALL.  239 

the  scene,  above  which  rose  the  Cotswold  hills  covered  with 
tne  verdure  of  spring,  while,  ever  and  anon,  the  hum  and 
"  note  of  preparation"  came  borne  upon  the  gale. 

It  was  not  long  before  a  body  of  mounted  soldiers  appeared 
advancing  rapidly  into  the  plain.  The  Lancastrians  per- 
ceived their  approach,  and  a  large  party  of  their  fore-riders 
pushed  forward  to  attack  them.  They  met  in  a  narrow  lane, 
and  in  an  instant  a  wild  shout  arose,  and  a  cloud  of  dust 
obscured  the  combatants.  Godfrey  raised  himself  in  his 
stirrups  for  a  moment,  then,  driving  his  spurs  into  his  horse's 
flanks,  rode  hastily  towards  them.  As  he  approached,  he 
could  easily  perceive  his  father's  pennon  fluttering  over  the 
heads  of  the  party,  while  cries  of  "  A  Maltravers!  A  Mal- 
travers !"  were  echoed  by  upwards  of  two  hundred  voices. 
Though  armed  only  with  his  sword,  he  dashed  boldly  for- 
ward, and  struck  down  a  rawboned  figure,  who  had  engaged 
his  father. 

"  Thanks,  my  boy,"  cried  Sir  William,  as  he  clove  the 
head  of  his  nearest  foe,  "  thou  hast  arrived  in  time.  Ha! 
these  rogues  give  ground!  upon  'em  knaves! — Hurrah!" 

The  knight  spoke  truly:  the  Lancastrian  soldiers  were 
broken  by  the  charge  of  the  remainder  of  his  followers,  who 
had  now  come  up,  and  fled  precipitately.  To  have  pursued 
them,  would  have  been  to  rush  upon  the  main  body  of  the 
queen's  army,  which  was  now  drawn  up. 

"  Ay,  there  they  go,  helter-skelter,  as  if  the  devil  drove 
them!"  said  the  knight,  as  the  scattered  troop  scoured  back: 
"  we  must  not  follow  them." 

He  wiped  the  bloody  sword  as  he  spoke,  on  his  horse's 
mane,  and,  sheathing  it,  received  his  son  in  his  mailed  arms, 
with  an  embrace  that  made  Godfrey  writhe  with  the  violence 
of  the  pressure. 

"  And  now,  my  boy,"  said  he,  "  let  us  return,  op  we  shall 
have  a  fresh  body  upon  us — see,  the  king  is  approaching: — 1 
have  a  suit  of  harness  ready  for  thee." 

The  party  gallopped  back  to  some  distance,  and  waited  the 
arrival  of  Edward's  army,  which  approached  slowly.  First 
came  a  troop  of  iii(ht  horsemen,  armed  with  jack  and  iron 
pot,  and  carrying  long  lances;  then  followed  a  band  of 
archers,  covered  with  dust  and  sweat,  and  greatly  exhausted 
by  their  long  march,  their  bows  strung,  and  an  arrow  ready 
in  the  hand,  while  their  leaden  mells  were  slung  at  their 
backs.  A  body  of  men-at-arms  came  next,  and  then  several 
pieces  of  artillery  drawn  on  clurosy  and  unwieldy  carriages. 


2-10  TALfcS    OF    OTHEK    DAYF. 

The  king  followed,  surrounded  by  his  friends  and  brothers, 
arrayed  in  a  suit  of  polished  steel;  his  rich  surtout,  em- 
blazoned with  the  arms  of  England  and  France  quarterly, 
soiled  with  dust  and  dirt,  from  the  toilsome  march.  A  page 
rode  by  his  side,  and  carried  his  gilded  helmet,  which  was 
ornamented  with  white  plumes.  A  large  body  of  spearmen 
and  bill-men,  to  the  number  of  several  thousands,  came  next; 
then  another  band  of  archers,  and  then  a  horde  of  raga- 
muffins, who  followed  the  army  in  the  hope  of  obtaining 
plunder.  Arriving  on  a  more  open  ground,  they  began  to 
form,  while  the  king's  brothers,  Clarence  and  Gloster,  left 
him,  and  took  their  respective  posts. 

The  Lancastrian  force  immediately  moved  forward,  and 
prepared  for  battle.  In  the  meantime.  Sir  William  had  pro- 
cured a  suit  of  armour  for  his  son,  who  now  rode  by  his  side. 
The  fight  soon  commenced  with  great  fury;  but  the  parti- 
culars have  so  often  been  described,  that  it  would  be  unne- 
cessary to  repeat  them  here.  The  Lancastrians,  as  it  is  well 
known,  suffered  a  signal  defeat,  and  were  chased  off  the  field 
with  great  slaughter.  Many  noblemen  fell  in  the  unnatural 
combat,  and  the  queen's  son  *  was  most  barbarously  murdered 
by  Edward  and  his  brothers,  after  he  was  taken  prisoner. 

The  news  of  the  battle  soon  reached  the  ears  of  Sir  John 
Haviland,  who  foresaw  the  danger  he  was  in  from  the 
marauders,  who  had  been  introduced  into  the  neighbourhood, 
and  who  now,  under  pretence  of  taking  vengeance  upon 
those  who  were  hateful  to  the  House  of  York,  prowled  about 
the  country,  committing  all  sorts  of  disorders.  He  therefore 
kept  his  gates  closed,  and  summoned  his  servants  together. 
His  worst  fears  were  realized;  for,  on  the  following  morning, 
a  party  of  men  arrived  at  Haviland  Hall,  and  demanded  ad- 
mittance. In  answer  to  the  knight's  questions,  they  informed 
him  that  they  were  Lancastrian  soldiers,  who  had  escaped 
from  the  battle,  and  begged  that  he  would  assist  them  with 

*  The  murder  of  this  prince  is  a  foul  stain  upon  Edward  and  his 
brothers,  although  it  could  hardly  be  said  to  have  been  done  in  cool 
blood,  as  the  pursuit  was  not  ended  when  he  was  brought  before  the 
conquerors.  Of  all  the  domestic  troubles  under  which  England  has 
suffered,  the  wars  of  the  Roses  stand  pre-eminent  for  ferocity.  There 
fell,  on  either  side,  during  these  sanguinary  and  unnatural  conflicts, 
which  may  be  said  to  have  ended  only  with  the  death  of  Richard  the 
Third,  three  kings,  a  prince,  eleven  dukes,  a  marquis,  seventeen  earls, 
a  viscount,  and  twenty-four  barons,  besides  many  knights,  and  a 
countless  host  of  common  men ! 


HAV1L AND    HALL.  2  !  1 

food  and  money.  Itfbt  doubting  the  truth  of  this  story.  Sit 
John  desired  his  servants  to  admit  them;  when  they  threw 
off  the  mask,  and  gave  the  signal  for  plunder.  The  most 
costly  t*j>esivy  was  soon  torn  from  the  walls;  the  plate  and 
other  valuaoies  were  seized,  and  the  knight  himself  treated 
with  the  greatest  indignity.  Sir  John  was  unable  to  resent 
these  outrages;  his  household  were  too  weak  to  make  resist- 
ance, and  he  retired  to  one  of  the  remotest  apartments,  with 
his  daughter  the  Lady  Agnes,  in  the  hope  that  the  villains 
would  depart  after  they  had  been  satiated  with  plunder. 

The  leader  of  the  band  was  a  man  of  great  stature  and 
strength.  A  frock  of  mail  over  a  leathern  jerkin  descended 
as  low  as  his  knees;  his  head  was  defended  by  a  scull-cap  of 
iron,  and  from  a  belt  with  which  he  was  girded  hun^  a 
ponderous  sword  and  a  long  dagger.  Walter  Harder,  had 
been  engaged  in,  and  had  shared  in  the  plunder  obtained  in 
the  various  battles  between  the  rival  houses.  His  undaunted 
bravery  made  him  a  great  favourite  with  the  desperate  band 
he  led,  who  were  inured  to  every  kind  ot  hardship  and  dan- 
ger. He  was  now  most  active  in  encouraging  his  fellows  to 
plunder,  and  in  a  short  time  the  place  WHS  stripped  of  every- 
thing valuable.  Several  pipes  of  wine  had  been  brought 
from  the  ci.'llars  into  the  hall,  and  their  contents  had  rendered 
these  marauders  still  more  wild  and  boisterous.  In  the 
midst  of  the  uproar  Walter  Harden  thought  of  Agnes. 

"  Comrades,"  said  he,  "  we  have  wine,  but  where  is  the 
beauty  who  fled  irom  us  when  we  entered  ? — shall  we  not 
have  her  here  to  K race  our  carousal  ?" 

A  loud  roar  of  assent  rose  from  the  band;  and  Walter, 
rising  from  a  bench  on  which  he  had  been  seated,  staggered 
out  of  the  hall  in  search  of  the  lady,  followed  by  three  or 
four  of  his  comrades.  After  searching  for  some  time  in  vain, 
they  came  to  the  room  into  which  the  knight  and  his 
daughter  had  retreated.  The  door  was  fastened  on  the 
inside,  and  resisted  the  efforts  of  all  but  Walter  himself,  who 
with  his  foot  dashed  it  into  the  middle  of  the  apartment,  and 
discovered  Sir  John,  his  daughter,  and  Wat  Stapler.  The 
maraudar  reeled  towards  the  maiden,  when  Wat  interposed, 
but  was  besired  by  his  master  to  remain  quiet. 

"  Fair  mistress,"  said  Walter,  "we  have  much  need  of  yi>nr 
company  below,  for  v»e  find  your  sex  passing  scarce  in  this 
country.  Pr'ythee,  uive  me  thy  hand.' 

He  took  the  hand  of  Agnes  as  he  »poke,  anil  threw  his 
arm  around  her  waist,  when  Wat  suddenly  started  forward, 


242         TALES  OF  OTHKK  DAYS. 

and  stabbed  the  ruffian  with  his  short  s\*ord.  So  deadly  was 
tiie  thrust,  that  the  weapon  passed  through  his  neck,  and 
came  out  on  the  other  side  full  a  band's-breadtb.  Waiter 
Harding  fell  to  the  ground  with  a  gasp,  and  expired,  while 
his  companions  sprung  upon  Wat  Stapler,  and,  though  he 
wounded  one  of  them  severely,  disarmed  and  bound  him.  He 
was  instantly  dragged  below,  with  fierce  oaths.  Loud  were 
the  execrations  ot  the  band,  when  they  heard  of  the  death  of 
their  leader;  and  they  held  a  council  how  they  should  punish 
the  slayer,  who  was  brought  before  them.  Some  advised 
that  he  should  be  hanged;  others,  that  he  should  be  thrown 
headlong  from  the  walls;  while  a  third  party  proposed  that  he 
should  be  roasted  over  a  slow  fire.  Several  archers  begged 
that  he  might  be  made  a  target  of,  and  bound  to  a  tree  as  a 
mark  for  their  arrows.  The  latter  proposition  received  the 
assent  of  the  greater  part  of  the  band,  and  Wat  was  led  forth 
.0  death. 

Sir  John  and  the  Lady  Agnes  were  shut  up  in  another 
room,  and  one  of  the  band  was  placed  as  a  guard  at  the  door. 
The  knight's  fears  for  his  own  safety  were  forgotten,  when  he 
thought  on  the  treatment  his  child  would  probably  receive 
from  the  ruffians,  alter  they  had  wreaked  their  vengeance 
upon  Wat.  He  buried  his  face  in  his  hands,  and  remained 
for  some  moments  insensible  to  the  entreaties  of  Agnes,  who 
besought  him  not  to  despair.  At  length  a  flood  of  tears 
came  to  his  relief. 

"  Alas!  my  child,"  cried  he,  "  'tis  not  for  myself  that  I 
grieve- — I  can  but  die — while  thou  wilt  be  given  up  to  the 
brutal  violence  of  these  demons." 

As  he  spoke,  a  hollow  sound,  like  the  noise  of  horses' 
hoofs  was  heard,  and  the  next  moment  a  wild  cry  of  alarm 
sounded  without,  mixed  with  the  clash  of  weapons,  and  cries 
of  "  Maltravers!  Maltravers  to  the  rescue!"  The  name 
acted  upon  Sir  John  like  an  electric  shock — 

"  Ah!"  he  exclaimed,  while  every  limb  was  palsied  with 
emotion — "  my  enemy  is  come  to  look  upon  my  ruin,  and 
strike  the  last  blow!' 

"  Dearest  father!"  said  Agnes,  "  if  it  be  Sir  William 
Maltravers  and  his  son,  we  may  yet  hope" 

But  the  knight  heeded  not  what  she  said.  The  noise 
without  increased,  and  blows  and  shouts  were  distinctly 
heard,  while  the  man  stationed  at  the  door  of  their  prison  for- 
sook his  post,  and  ran  down  stairs.  In  a  short  time  the  noise 
became  fainter,  and  sounded  more  distant,  while  footsteps 


HAVILAND    HALL.  2-M 

were  heard  ascending  the  stairs;  the  holts  which  fastened  ihc 
door  were  withdrawn — it  opened,  and  Godfrey  Malt  ra  von 
entered,  his  drawn  sword  in  his  hand,  and  his  right  arm 
splashed  with  blood. 

"  Sir  John  Haviland,"  he  said,  sheathing  his  sword,  "  you 
are  free;  the  hell-hounds,  who  have  plundered  ye,  are 
scattered  by  my  troop." 

"  Oh !  youth,"  cried  the  knight,  in  a  hall-stifled  voice,  "  I 
did  thee  wrong;  but  forgive  me — thy  father" 

"  Fell  at  Tewkesbury,"  said  Godfrey.  "  Let  not  your 
wrath  descend  into  his  grave:  believe  me,  he  sorely  repented 
him  of  your  son's  death.'' 

Then  may  Heaven  pardon  him,  as  I  do!"  ejaculated  Sir 
John,  emphatically;  "  but  how  shall  I  find  words  to  thank 
thee,  gallant  youth  ?  I  arn  poor  in  worldly  goods." 

"  Oh,  say  not  so,"  interrupted  the  young  soldier,  "  while  so 
fair  a  maiden  calls  you  father."  Then  turning  to  Agnes, 
whose  face  was  suffused  with  blushes,  he  said,  "  Dear  lady, 
to  you  I  owe  my  life — say,  can  constant  love  requite  you?" 

Agnes  spoke  not:  she  placed  her  small  hand  in  the  gaunt- 
letted  palm  of  Godfrey,  while  the  old  knight  pronounced  his 
blessing-  on  the  pair.  The  union  of  the  lovers  took  place 
after  Godfrey's  term  of  mourning  had  expired.  His  timely 
arrival  had  rescued  Wat  from  his  perilous  situation,  and  the 
sturdy  woodsman  forgot  not  the  service.  Sir  John  lived  to 
behold  a  group  of  chubby  grandchildren  smiling  around  him, 
and  died  at  an  advanced  age,  after  seeing  the  factions  of  the 
Red  and  White  Roses  for  ever  extinguished. 


TALES    OF    OTHER    DAYS. 


PART    II. 


TALES   OF   OTHER   DA*S. 


PART  n. 


A    TOUR    TO    THE    NORTH. 


THE    ACCIDENT THE    SCHOOLMASTER THE    VETERAN THI 

VICAR. 

BEING  on  a  tour  to  the  North,  I  was  one  evening  arrested  in 
my  progress  at  the  entrance  of  a  small  hamlet,  by  breaking 
the  fore-wheel  of  my  phaeton.  This  accident  rendering  it 
impracticable  tor  me  to  proceed  to  the  next  town,  from  svhich 
I  was  now  sixteen  miles  distant,  1  directed  my  steps  to  a 
small  cottage,  ut  the  door  of  which,  in  a  woodbine  arbour,  sat 
a  man  of  about  sixty,  who  was  solacing  himself  with  a  pipe. 
In  the  front  of  his  house  was  affixed  a  small  board,  which  I 
conceived  to  contain  an  intimation  that  travellers  might 
there  be  accommodated.  Addressing  myself,  therefore,  to 
the  old  man,  I  requested  his  assistance,  which  he  readily 
granted;  but,  on  my  mentioning  an  intention  of  remaining  at 
his  house  all  night,  he  regretted  that  it  was  not  in  his  power 
to  receive  me,  and  the  more  so,  as  there  was  no  inn  in  the 
village.  It  was  not  till  now  that  I  discovered  my  error  con- 
cerning the  board  over  the  door,  which  contained  a  notifica- 
tion that  he  was  the  schoolmaster,  and  probably  the  secre- 
tary to  the  hamlet.  Affairs  were  in  this  situation,  when  the 
vicar  made  his  appearance.  He  was  one  of  the  most 
venerable  figures  I  had  ever  seen;  his  time-silvered  locks 
shaded  his  temples,  whilst  the  lines  of  misfortune  were,  alas! 
but  too  visible  in  his  countenance.  Time  had  softened,  but 
could  not  efface  them.  On  seeing  my  broken  equipage,  he 
addressed  me;  and  when  lie  began  to  speak,  his  countenance 
was  illumined  by  a  smile,  "  I  presume  sir,"  *aid  he,  ':  that 


248  TALES  OF  OTHER  DAYS. 

the  accident  you  have  just  experienced,  will  render  it  impos- 
sible for  you  to  proceed.  Should  that  be  the  case,  you  will 
be  much  distressed  for  lodgings,  the  place  affording  no 
accommodation  for  travellers,  as  my  parishioners  are  neither 
•willing  nor  able  to  support  an  ale-house;  and,  as  we  have 
few  travellers,  we  have  little  need  of  one;  but,  if  you  will 
accept  the  best  accommodation  my  cottage  affords,  it  is  much 
at  your  service."  After  expressing  the  sense  I  entertained 
of  his  goodness,  I  joyfully  accepted  so  desirable  an  offer. 
As  we  entered  the  hamlet,  the  sun  was  gilding  with  his 
departing  beams  the  village  spire,  whilst  a  gentle  breeze 
refreshed  the  weary  hinds,  who,  seated  beneath  the  venerable 
oaks  that  overshadowed  their  cottages,  were  reposing  them- 
selves after  the  labours  of  the  day,  and  listening  attentively 
to  the  tale  of  an  old  soldier,  who,  like  myself,  had  wandered 
thus  far,  and  was  now  distressed  for  a  lodging.  He  had  been 
in  several  actions,  in  one  of  which  he  had  lost  a  leg,  and  was 
now,  like  many  other  brave  fellows, 

"  Doom'd  to  beg 

His  bitter  bread  through  realms  his  valour  saved." 

My  kind  host  invited  me  to  join  the  crowd,  and  listen  to 
his  tale.  With  this  request  I  readily  complied.  No  sooner 
did  we  make  our  appearance,  than  I  attracted  the  attention 
of  every  one.  The  appearance  of  a  stranger,  in  a  hamlet  two 
hundred  miles  from  the  capital,  is  generally  productive  cf 
surprise,  and  every  one  examines  the  new  comer  with  the 
most  attentive  observation.  So  wholly  did  my  arrival 
engross  the  villagers,  that  the  veteran  was  obliged  to  defer 
the  continuation  of  his  narrative,  till  their  curiosity  should  be 
gratified.  Every  one  there  took  an  opportunity  of  testifying 
the  good-will  they  bore  my  venerable  host,  by  offering  him  a 
seat  on  the  grass.  The  good  man  and  myself  were  soon 
seated,  and  the  brave  veteran  resumed  his  narrative,  in  the 
following  words: — "  After,"  continued  he,  "  I  had  been 
intoxicated,  I  was  carried  before  a  justice,  who  was  intimate 
with  the  captain,  at  whose  request  he  arrested  me  before  1 
had  sufficiently  recovered  my  senses,  to  see  the  danger  I  was 
encountering.  In  the  morning,  when  I  came  to  myself,  I  found 
I  was  in  custody  of  three  or  four  soldiers,  who,  after  tellinir 
Tne  what  had  happened,  in  spite  of  all  I  could  say,  carried  me 
i»  the  next  town,  without  permitting  me  to  take  leave  of  one 
of  my  neighbours.  When  they  reached  the  town  it  was 
market-day,  and  I  saw  several  oi'  the  people  from  our  village 


A    TOtK    TO    THE    NORTH.  2-iJ) 

who  were  all  sorry  to  hear  what  had  happened,  and  endea- 
voured to  procure  my  release,  but  in  vain.  After  taking  an 
affecting  leave  of  my  neighbours,  I  was  marched  to  Ports- 
mouth, and  there,  together  wilh  a  hundred  more,  embarked  (or 
the  coast  of  Africa.  During  the  voyage,  most  of  our  number 
died,  or  became  so  enfeebled  by  sickness,  as  to  make  them 
unfit  for  service.  This  was  owing  partly  to  the  climate, 
partly  to  the  want  of  water,  and  to  confinement  in  the  ship. 
When  we  reached  the  coast  of  Africa  we  were  landed,  and 
experienced  every  possible  cruelty  from  our  officers.  At  length, 
however,  a  man-of-war  arrived,  who  had  lost  several  marines  in 
a  late  action,  and  I,  with  some  others,  was  sent  on  board  to 
serve  in  that  station.  Soon  after  we  put  to  sea,  we  fell  in 
with  a  French  man-of-war.  In  the  action  I  lost  my  leg,  and 
was  near  being  thrown  overboard;  but  the  humanity  of  the 
chaplain  preserved  my  life,  and,  on  my  return  to  England, 

Erocured  my  discharge.  I  applied  for  the  Chelsea  bounty, 
ut  it  was  refused  me,  because  I  lost  my  limb  when  acting  as 
a  marine;  and,  as  I  was  not  a  regular  marine,  I  was  not 
entitled  to  any  protection  from  the  Admiralty.  Therefore, 
I  am  reduced  to  live  on  the  good  will  of  those  who  pity  my 
misfortunes." 

The  village  clock  now  striking  eight,  the  worthy  vicar  rose, 
and,  slipping  something  into  the  old  man's  hand,  desired  me 
to  follow  him.  At  our  departure,  the  villagers  promised  to 
take  care  of  the  old  man.  We  returned  the  farewell  civilities 
of  the  rustics,  and  directed  our  steps  to  the  vicarage.  It  was 
small,  with  a  thatched  roof;  the  front  was  entirely  covered 
with  woodbine  and  honeysuckle,  which  strongly  scented  the 
circumambient  air.  A  grove  of  ancient  oaks  that  surrounded 
the  house,  cast  a  solemn  shade  over,  and  preserved  the 
verdure  of  the  adjacent  lawn,  through  the  midst  of  which  ran 
a  small  brook,  that  gently  murmured  as  it  flowed.  This, 
together  with  the  bleating  of  the  sheep,  the  lowing  of  the 
herds,  the  village  murmurs,  and  the  distant  barkings  of  the 
trusty  curs,  who  were  now  entering  on  their  office  as  guardians 
of  the  hamlet,  formed  a  complete  concert.  On  entering  the 
•wicket,  we  were  met  by  a  little  girl  of  six  years  old.  Her  dress 
was  simple,  but  elegant,  and  her  appearance  such  as  spoke  her 
destined  for  a  higher  sphere.  As  soon  as  she  had  informed 
her  grandfather  that  supper  was  ready,  she  dropped  a  courtesy 
and  retired.  I  delayed  not  a  moment  to  congratulate  tne  j,co«l 
old  man  on  possessing  so  great  a  treasure.  He  replied,  but  with 
a  sigh,  and  we  entered  the  house,  where  everything  was  dis- 


250  TALES    Of    OTIIKR    DAYS. 

tinguished  by  an  air  of  elegant  simplicity  that  surprised  me 
On  our  entrance,  he  introduced  me  to  his  wife,  a  woman 
turned  of  forty,  who  still  possessed  some  remains  of  beauty, 
and  had  much  the  appearance  of  a  woman  of  fashion.  She 
received  me  with  easy  politeness,  and  regretted  that  she  had 
it  not  in  her  power  to  entertain  me  better.  I  requested  her 
not  to  distress  me  with  unnecessary  apologies,  and  we  sat 
down  to  supper.  The  little  angel,  who  welcomed  us  at  the 
door,  now  seating  herself  opposite  to  me,  afforded  me  an 
opportunity  of  contemplating  one  of  the  finest  faces  I  had  ever 
beheld.  My  worthy  host,  observing  how  much  I  was  struck 
with  her  appearance,  directed  my  attention  to  a  picture  which 
hung  over  the  mantelpiece.  It  was  a  striking  likeness  of  my 
little  neighbour,  only  on  a  larger  scale.  "  That,  sir,"  said  he, "  is 
Harriet's  mother.  Do  you  not  think  there  is  a  vast  resem- 
blance r"  To  this  I  assented,  when  the  old  man  put  up  a 
prayer  to  Heaven,  that  she  might  resemble  her  mother  in 
everything  but  her  unhappy  fate.  He  then  started  another 
topic  of  conversation,  without  gratifying  the  curiosity  he  had 
excited  concerning  the  fate  of  Harriet's  mother;  for  whom  I 
already  felt  myself  much  interested. 

Supper  being  removed,  after  chatting  some  time,  my  worthy 
host  conducted  rne  to  my  bedchamber,  which  was  on  the 
ground  floor,  and  lined  with  jessamin,  conducted  in  at  the 
windows.  After  wishing  me  good  night,  he  retired,  leaving 
me  to  rest.  The  beauty  of  the  scenery,  however,  and  my 
usual  propensity  to  walk  by  moonlight,  induced  me  to  leave 
my  fragrant  cell.  When  I  sallied  forth,  the  moon  was  dart- 
ing her  temperated  rays  through  the  shade  that  surrounded 
the  cottage,  tipping  the  tops  of  the  venerable  oaks  with  silver. 
After  taking  a  turn  or  two  on  the  lawn,  I  wandered  to  the 
spot  "where  the  rude  forefathers  of  the  hamlet  sleep."  It 
was  small,  and,  for  the  most  part,  surrounded  with  yew  trees 
of  an  ancient  date,  beneath  whose  solemn  shade  many  gene- 
rations had  mouldered  into  dust.  No  sooner  did  I  enter,  than 
my  attention  was  caught  by  a  pillar  of  white  marble,  placed 
on  the  summit  of  a  small  eminence,  the  base  of  which  was 
surrounded  with  honeysuckles  and  woodbines,  whilst  a  large 
willow  overshadowed  the  pillar.  As  I  was  with  attention 
perusing  the  epitaph,  I  was  not  a  little  alarmed  by  the 
approach  of  a  figure,  clothed  in  a  long  robe.  The  apparition 
continued  advancing  towards  me  with  a  slow  step,  and  its 
eyes  fixed  on  the  ground,  which  prevented  it  observing  me 
till  we  were  within  reach  of  earh  other  Great  was  inv 


A    TOUR    TO    THE     NORTH.  '2i)l 

wonder  at  recognizing1  my  worthy  host  in  this  situation;  nor 
was  his  astonishment  less  at  finding-  his  guest  thus  courting 
the  appearance  of  goblins  and  fairies.  After  each  had  ex- 
pressed the  surprise  he  felt,  I  proceeded  to  inquire  whose 
dust  was  there  enshrined.  To  my  question  he  returned 
answer — "  There,  sir,  sleeps  Harriet's  mother,  an  innocent, 
but  unfortunate  woman.  Pardon  me,  sir,"  said  he,  "  if  for  a 
moment  I  indulge  my  sorrow,  and  bedew  my  Harriet's  grave 
with  tears — a  tribute  that  I  often  pay  her  much-loved 
memory,  when  the  rest  of  the  world  are  lost  in  sleep."  Here 
he  paused,  and  seemed  much  agitated.  At  length,  he 
requested  my  permission  to  defer  the  recital  of  Harriet's  woes 
till  the  next  day,  as  he  found  himself  unequal  to  the  task  of 
proceeding  in  the  painful  detail.  To  this  proposal  I  readily 
acceded,  and  we  returned  home.  I  retired  to  my  room,  but 
every  attempt  to  procure  sleep  proved  ineffectual.  Harriet 
had  so  wholly  occupied  my  thoughts,  that  no  moment  of  the 
night  was  suffered  to  pass  unnoticed.  At  length,  "  when 
soared  the  warbling  lark  on  high,"  I  left  my  couch,  and 
rejoined  my  worthy  landlord,  who  was  busily  employed  in  the 
arrangement  of  his  garden.  Though  I  declined  mentioning' 
the  subject  of  our  last  night's  adventure,  yet  he  saw  the 
marks  of  anxious  expectation  in  my  countenance,  and  pro- 
ceeded to  gratify  the  curiosity  he  had  inspired.  "  It  will  be 
necessary,"  said  he,  "  before  I  proceed  to  relate  the  woes  that 
befel  my  daughter,  to  give  a  short  sketch  of  my  own  life. 

Six-and-twenty    years    ago,   Mrs. came   here   for   the 

benefit  of  her  health,  the  air  being  recommended  as  highly 
salubrious.  On  her  arrival,  she  gave  out  that  she  was  the 
daughter  of  a  clergyman,  who  was  lately  dead,  and  had  left 
her  in  narrow  circumstances.  I  thought  it  my  duty  to  visit 
her,  and  offer  her  any  little  attention  in  my  power.  She 
received  me  with  politeness,  and  expressed  a  wish  to  cultivate 
my  acquaintance.  I  continued  to  repeat  my  visits  for  some 
time,  without  suspecting  that  there  was  anything  particular  in 
her  history;  till  one  morning  I  found  her  in  tears,  reading-  a 
letter  she  had  just  received.  On  my  entrance,  sho  gave  it  to 

me;  it  contained  a  notification  from  Lord  B 's  agent,  that 

her  usual  remittances  would  no  longer  be'  continued.  On 
opening  this  letter,  I  was  led  to  suppose  that  her  connexioi1 

with    Lord    B was  not  of  the   most  honourable   nature 

But  all  my  suspicion  vanished,  on  her  producing  severa. 
letters  from  Lord  B io  her  mother,  with  whom  he  had 


252  TALES  OF  OTHER  DAYS. 

been  long  connected.     From  those  letters  I  learnt,  tiiat  Mr*. 

• was  the  daughter  of  Lord  B •  by  Miss  M ,  sister 

to  a  Scotch  baronet,  whom  he  had  seduced  and  supported 
during-  the  remainder  of  her  life.  But  he  had,  it  seems, 
determined  to  withdraw  his  protection  from  the  fruit  of  their 

connexion.     Mrs. declared  she  knew  not  what  step  to 

take,  as  her  finances  were  nearly  exhausted.  I  endeavoured  to 
comfort  her,  assuring  her  that  she  should  command  every 
assistance  in  my  power.  On  hearing  this,  she  seemed  a  little 
satisfied,  and  became  more  composed.  After  sitting  with  her 
some  time,  I  returned  home,  to  consider  in  what  manner  I 
might  most  easily  afford  protection  to  the  young  orphan, 
whose  whole  dependence  was  on  my  support.  If  I  took  her 
home  to  live  with  me,  as  I  was  unmarried,  it  would  give 
offence  to  my  parishioners.  My  income  was  too  confined  to 
admit  of  my  affording  her  a  separate  establishment.  Thus 
circumstanced,  I  determined  to  offer  her  my  hand.  You  will, 
no  doubt,  say  it  was  rather  an  imprudent  step  for  a  man  who 
had  seen  his  fortieth  year,  to  connect  himself  with  youth  and 
beauty;  but,  as  my  brother  was  then  living,  it  was  impossible 
for  me  to  render  her  the  least  assistance  on  any  other  plan. 
She  received  my  proposal  with  grateful  surprise,  and  accepted 
it  without  hesitation.  In  a  few  days  we  were  married,  and 
have  now  lived  together  six-and-twenty  years,  in  a  state  the 
felicity  of  which  has  never  been  interrupted  by  those  dis- 
cordant jars,  which  are  so  frequently  the  concomitants  of 
matrimony;  though,  alas!  our  peace  has  received  a  mortal 
wound  from  one,  the  bare  mention  of  whose  name  fills  me 
with  horrorl^JBut,  not  to  digress;  before  the  return  of  that 
day  which  saw  me  blessed  with  the  hand  of  Emily,  my  hap- 
piness received  an  important"  addition,  by  the  birth  of  a 
daughter,  who  inherited  all  her  mother's  charms.  It  is 
superfluous  to  add,  that  she  was  equally  the  idol  of  both  her 
parents;  and,  as  she  was  the  only  fruit  of  our  marriage,  she 
became  every  day  a  greater  favourite.  My  wife  had  received 
such  an  education  as. rendered  her  fully  capable  of  accom- 
plishing her  daughter  in  a  manner  far  superior  to  anything 
her  situation  required,  or,  perhaps,  could  justify.  To  this 
agreeable  employment,  however,  she  devoted  her  whole  time; 
and  when  Harriet  had  reached  her  eighteenth  year,  she  was 
in  every  respect  a  highly  accomplished  woman.  She  was 
become  what  that  picture  represents  her.  With  an  amiable 
temper  and  gentle  manners,  she  was  the  idol  of  the  village. 


A     TOU"-    TO    THE     NORTH.  .  2.)<> 

Hitherto,  she  had  experienced  a  state  of  felicity  unknown  in 
the  more  exalted  stations  of  life — unconscious,  alas!  of  the 
ills  that  awaited  her  future  years. 

"  It  is  with  reluctance  that  I  proceed  in  the  melancholy 
narrative.  One  evening,  as  a  young  man,  attended  by  a 
servant,  was  passing  through  the  village,  his  horse  startled 
and  threw  him.  Happening  to  he  on  the  spot  at  the  time,  I 
offered  every  assistance  in  my  power,  and,  conveying  him  to 
my  cottage,  despatched  his  servant  in  quest  of  a  surgeon,  who 
declared  our  patient  was  not  in  any  danger,  but  recommended 
him  to  delay  his  departure  for  a  day  or  two.  His  health, 
however,  or  rather  his  love,  did  not  admit  of  his  travelling 
for  near  a  fortnight;  during  which  time  he  established  his 
interest  with  Harriet,  by  the  most  pleasing  and  unremitting 
attention  to  her  slightest  wishes.  When  about  to  depart,  he 
requested  leave  to  repeat  his  visit,  on  his  return  from  his 
intended  tour,  dropping,  at  the  same  time,  some  distant  hints 
of  his  affection  for  Harriet,  to  whom  he  was  by  no  means 
indifferent. 

"  Mr.  H (for  so  our  guest  was  named)  informed  us, 

previous  to  his  departure,  that  he  had  a  small  independent 
fortune,  but  that,  from  a  distant  relation,  he  had  considerable 
expectations.  After  bidding  an  affectionate  adieu  to  Harriet, 
he  set  out  on  his  intended  tour,  which  lasted  a  month. 

"  During  the  time  of  Mr.  H 's  absence,  Harriet  appeared 

pensive,  and  I  observed  with  pain,  that  he  had  made  no  slight 

impression  on  her  heart.     At  length   Mr.  H returned, 

and  Harriet's  reception  of  him  left  us  no  room  to  doubt  her 
attachment.  During  his  second  visit,  he  was  very  assiduous 
to  secure  the  favour  of  all  the  family:  with  Harriet  he  easily 

succeeded;    nor  were   Mrs.    T or    myself  disposed    to 

dislike  him.  His  manners  were  elegant,  and  his  wit  lively. 
At  length  he  obtained  from  Harriet  the  promise  of  her  hand, 
provided  her  parents  should  not  object.  Hitherto  I  had 
never  been  induced  to  make  any  inquiries  concerning  his 
circumstances  and  character.  Now,  however,  by  his  direction, 

I  applied  to  a  Mr.  E ,  a  clergyman  of  his  acquaintance. 

This  gentleman,  now  in  an  exalted  station  in  the  church, 

informed  me  that  Mr.  H was  in  every  respect  a  desirable 

match  for  my  daughter;  and  that,  whenever  his  cousin  should 
die,  he  would  be  enabled  to  maintain  her  in  affluence  and  splen- 
dour. He  added,  that  his  character  was  unexceptionable. 

Little  suspecting  the  villanous  part  Mr.  E was  acting,   I 

readily  consented  to  the  proposed  union,  and  performed  the 
z 


25  I  TALES  OF  OTHER  DAYS. 

ceremony  myself.     Mr.  H requested  that  their  rnarriaee 

might  he  kept  a  secret,  till  the  birth  of  a  son  and  heir.  'Inis 
proposal  rather  alarmed  me,  but  it  was  too  late  to  retreat;  and, 
knowing  no  one  in  the  great  world,  it  was  impossible  for  me, 

previous  to  the  marriage,  to  procure  any  account  of  Mr.  H , 

but  such  as  his  friend  communicated  to  me.  Thus  circum- 
stanced, I  could  only  consent;  and,  as  Harriet  readily  adopted 
every  proposal  that  came  from  one  she  so  tenderly  loved,  the 
matter  was  finally  agreed  on.  After  staying  a  few  days,  he  set  oft 
for  London,  but  soon  returned,  and  passed  the  whole  winter  with 
us;  and,  in  the  spring,  Harriet  was  delivered  of  that  little  girl 
you  so  much  admire.  I  now  pressed  him  to  acknowledge 
my  daughter  as  his  wife.  To  this  he  answered,  that  had  she 
brought  him  a  son,  he  would  readily  have  complied  wi'Xi  my 
request;  but  that  his  cousin  was  so  great  an  oddity,  that  l.e 
could  not  bear  the  idea  (to  use  his  own  expression,)  of 
having  his  fortune  lavished  in  a  milliner's  shop:  'but,'  added 
he,  'if  you  insist  upon  it,  I  will  now  risk  the  loss  of  all  his  for- 
tune, and  introduce  my  Harriet  to  his  presence.'  Harriet,  how- 
ever, again  interfered,  and  desired  that  Mr.  H might  not 

be  forced  into  measures  that  might  in  the  end  prove  destruc- 
tive of  his  future  prospects,  and  induce  him  to  regret  the  day 

he  ever  saw  her.     These  arguments  prevailed,  and  Mr.  H 

was  suffered  to  continue  as  a  member  of  the  family,  without 
any  farther  notice  bein?  taken  of  the  subject.  In  this  manner 
had  three  years  elapsed,  undistinguished  by  any  remarkable 

event,  Mr.  H generally  passing  half  the  year  with   us, 

and  the  remainder  in  London,  attending,  as  he  said,  on  his 
cousin:  when  one  day,  as  he  was  sitting  with  us  at  dinner,  a 
chaise  and  four  drove  up  to  the  house.  The  servants 

inquired  for  Mr.  H ,  and,  on  hearing  he  was  there,  opened 

the  carriage  door.  A  gentleman,  dressed  like  an  officer, 
jumped  out,  followed  by  a  lady  in  a  travelling  dress;  they 
rushed  immediately  into  the  room.  Their  appearance  amazed 

us;  but  Mr.  H betrayed  the  most  visible  consternation. 

The  lady  appeared  to  be  about  thirty.  She  was  a  woman  by 
no  means  destitute  of  personal  churms.  The  moment  she. 
entered  the  room,  she  seized  upon  Harriet,  and,  loading  her 
with  every  horrible  epithet,  proceeded  to  indulge  her  passion 
by  striking  her  innocent  rival.  On  seeing  this,  an  old  ser- 
vant of  mine  seized  the  lady,  and  forcibly  turned  her  out  <>| 
the  house,  then  fastened  the  door.  It  was  not  till  now  that 

we  perceived  the  tlisence  of  Mr.  H ,  who  had,  it  seen;-, 

retired  with  the  lady's  companion.     Whilst  we  were  still  i.  st 


A     TOUR    TO    THE     NORTH.  2f>5 

in  amazement  at  the  transaction  we  had  just  witnessed.  \<<« 
were  alarmed  to  the  highest  pitch  by  the  report  of  a  pistol. 

Harriet  instantly  tainted.   Whilst  Mrs.  T was  recovering 

her,  I  flew  to  the  spot  from  whence  the  sound  proceeded,  and 

there  found  Mr.  H weltering  in  his  blood,  with  a  pistol 

lying  by  him.  1  approached,  and  found  him  still  sensible. 
He  informed  me  that  the  lady's  brother  and  he  had  fought, 
and  that,  seeing  him  fall,  they  had  both  escaped  as  fast  as 
possible.  I  instantly  procured  assistance,  and  conveyed  him 
to  the  house,  where  he  was  put  to  bed,  and  a  surgeon  \va? 
sent  for.  Meantime,  Harriet  had  several  fits,  and  we  werf 
very  apprehensive  that  the  hour  of  her  fate  was  approaching. 
On  the  arrival  of  the  surgeon,  he  declared  the  wound  Mr 

H had    received,  would    probably   prove     mortal,   and 

recommended  the  arrangement  of  his   affairs.     Mr.   H 

received  the  news  with  great  agony,  and  desired  that  I 
might  be  left  alone  with  him.  No  sooner  was  this  request 
granted,  than  he  addressed  me  in  the  following  terms: — '  In 
me,  sir,  behold  the  most  unfortunate,  and,  alas!  the  most 
guilty  of  men.  The  lady,  whose  ill-timed  visit  has  cost  me 
rny  life,  is — I  tremble  to  pronounce  the  word — my  wife.' 
Seeing  me  pale  with  horror,  he  proceeded.  '  No  wonder,  sir, 
that  you  should  behold  with  horror  one  who  has  repaid 
unbounded  hospitality  by  unequalled  villany.  The  bare 
remembrance  of  my  own  guilt  distracts  rne.  The  awful 
hour  is  fast  approaching,  when  I  must  receive  my  final  doom 
from  that  Heaven  whose  laws  I  have  so  daringly  violated.  To 
redress  the  injuries  I  have  committed,  is,  alas!  impossible. 
My  death  will  be  an  atonement  by  no  means  sufficient.  I 
cannot,  however,  leave  this  world  till  you  shall  be  informed, 
that  ten  thousand  pounds,  the  whole  of  my  property  that  is 
at  my  disposal,  has  long  ago  been  transferred  by  me  into  the 
hands  of  trustees,  fur  the  benefit  of  my  much  injured  Harriet 
and  her  unhappy  infant.  In  my  own  defence  1  have  nothing 
to  urge;  suffer  me  only  to  remark,  that  my  misfortune  arose 
from  the  avarice  of  my  father,  who  forced  me  into  a  marriage 
with  the  woman  you  lately  saw,  and  whose  brother  has  been 
the  instrument,  in  the  hand  of  Providence,  to  inflict  on  me  the 
doom  I  so  much  merited.  If  possible,  conceal  from  Harriet 
that  I  was  married.  Picture,  for  her  sake,  an  innocent 
deception,  and  tell  her  that  1  was  only  engaged  to  that  ladv. 
This  will  contribute  to  promote  her  repose,  and  the  deception 
may  possibly  plead  the  mer»*  of  prolonging  a  life,  so  dear  to 


o  TALES      OF      OTHKR      DAYS. 

vou.  For  the  elevated  mind  of  my  Harriet  would  never 
survive  the  fatal  discovery  of  my  villany.  But,  oh!  when 
my  unhappy  child  shall  ask  the  fate  of  him  who  gave  her 
being,  in  pity  draw  a  veil  over  that  guilt  which  can  scarcely 
hope  to  obtain  the  pardon  of  Heaven.'  There  he  ceased,  ami, 
uttering  a  short  prayer,  expired.  Happily  tor  Harriot,  she 
continued  in  a  state  of  insensibility  tor  three  days,  during 
which  time  1  had  the  body  removed  to  a  neighbouring  house, 
there  to  wait  for  interment.  Having  addressed  a  letter  to 

Mr.  H 's  agent  in  town,  he  sent  orders  for  the  body  to 

be  removed  to  the  family  burying  place,  where  it  was  accord- 
ingly interred.  Harriet  recovered  by  slow  degrees  from  the 
state  of  happy  insensibility  into  which  the  death  of  Mr. 

H had  plunged  her.     Her  grief  became  silent  and  settled. 

Groans  and  exclamations  now  gave  way  to  sighs,  and  the 
bitter  tears  of  desponding  grief.  She  seldom  or  never  spoke, 
but  would  cry  for  hours  together  over  her  hapless  infant,  then 
call  on  the  shade  of  her  departed  Henry,  little  suspecting 
the  irreparable  injury  he  had  done  her.  It  was  with  infinite 
anxiety  I  beheld  the  decline  of  Harriet's  health.  Prone  as 
we  ever  are  to  hope  what  we  ardently  desire,  I  now  de- 
spaired of  her  recovery.  Whilst,  in  a  state  of  hopeless  in- 
activity, I  was  doomed  to  witness  the  lingering  death  of  my 
lamented  Harriet,  I  received  a  visit  from  an  old  friend.  On 
his  arrival,  I  allotted  him  the  apartment  formerly  inha- 
bited by  Mr.  H and  Harriet.  About  midnight  he  was 

awakened  by  some  one  entering  the  apartment.  On  remov- 
ing the  curtain,  he  discovered,  by  the  light  of  the  moon, 
my  adored  Harriet  in  a  white  dress.  Her  eyes  were 
open,  but  had  a  vacant  look  that  plainly  proved  sne  was  not 
awake.  She  advanced  with  a  slow  step;  then  seating  herself 
at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  remained  there  an  hour,  weeping  bitterly 
the  whole  time,  but  without  uttering  a  word.  My  friend, 
fearful  of  the  consequences,  forbore  to  awake  her,  and  she 
retired  with  the  same  deliberate  step  she  had  entered.  This 
intelligence  alarmed  me  excessively.  On  the  next  night  she 
was  watched,  and  the  same  scene  was  repeated,  with  this  dif- 
ference, that  after  quitting  the  fatal  apartment,  she  went  to 
the  room  where  her  daughter  usually  slept;  and,  laving  her- 
self down  on  the  bed,  wept  over  the  child  for  some  time,  then 
returned  to  her  apartment.  The  next  morning  we  waited 
with  anxiety  for  her  appearance  at  breakfast;  but  alas !" — Here 
a  flood  of  tears  afforded  to  mx  friend  that  relief  which  he  so 


THE    RING    AND    THE    MENDICANT.  !i.»J 

much  needed;  and  we  returned  to  the  house.  After  passing 
some  days  with  this  worthy  couple,  I  proceeded  on  my  tour, 
quitting  with  reluctance  the  abode  of  sorrow  and  resignation. 
Those  whom  the  perusal  of  this  tale  may  interest,  will,  if  ever 
they  visit  the  banks  of  the  Alna,  find  that  the  author  has 
copied  his  characters  from  nature. 


THE  RING  AND  THE  MENDICANT. 

A    TALE    OF   FRANKFORT    FAIR. 

"Alas!  alas!  that  thus  my  dearest  love 

Should  turn  my  bitterest  foe,  and 

Drive  me  to  the  jaws  of  death  and  misery." 

[!T  is,  or  rather  was,  a  commonly  believed  opinion  in  Ger- 
many, that  gifts  are  frequently  bestowed  on  mortals  by  the 
powers  of  darkness;  who  in  return  exact  impossibilities,  and, 
on  the  non-fulfilment  of  their  demands,  seize  on  their  unfor- 
tunate victims  and  destroy  them.] 

"  TO-MORROW  is  Frankfort  Fair;  shall  you  go?"  was  the 
question  asked  by  many  a  village  girl  and  wealthy  merchant. 
The  high-road  from  Darmstadt,  always  well  frequented,  was 
more  thronged  with  passengers:  merchants  conveying  the  pro- 
ducts of  all  countries;  luxuries  for  the  rich;  necessaries,  or 
articles  which  custom  had  rendered  so,  for  the  poorer  classes; 
travellers  who  wished  to  be  present  at  so  celebrated  a  fair; 
country  people  who  hastened  to  buy  a  stock  of  such  articles  as 
they  were  in  want  of;  not  a  few  near  inhabitants,  wh->  wen* 
to  view  the  preparations  for  the  morrow;  and,  lastly,  a  '.-.irge 
number  of  beggars,  who  joyfully  anticipated  a  plentiful 
harvest. 

About  two  miles  (English  and  German)  from  Frankfort, 
there  sat,  on  the  bank  which  lined  the  road,  a  mendicant  who 
silently  pleaded  for  the  charity  of  passers-by.  There  was 
something  peculiar  in  this  man,  which  distinguished  him  from 
the  other  beggars  who  crowded  the  road.  His  ago  did  not 
appear  to  exceed  fifty,  although  many  hairs  purely  white 
were  intermingled  with  the  raven  locks  that  once  shaded  his 
z2 


"  >S  TALES    OF    OTHER    DAYS. 

f«reiip-id.  His  countenance  looked  aged,  the  lines  of  care 
.\i.--.;  ^.oopiy  iinpniitou  ou  his  brow;  they  appeared  to  have 
been  caused  rather  by  bodily  pain  and  torture,  than  mental 
grief,  for  his  eves,  large,  bright,  and  expressive  of  energy, 
betrived  little  or  nothing  of  concealed  care.  His  attire  con- 
MSuj'i  of  ni«  iierest  rajj'S,  and  he  supported  himself  by  leaning1 
v, ..h  ooih  nis  hands  on  a  large  stick,  while  a  ragged  cap  lay 
before  him.  containing  the  small  coins  which  charitable  persons 
••ao  Bestowed;  his  head  remaining,  of  course,  bare.  His  look 
\>ai  uow  meek  and  lowly,  although  it  required  not  much 
i— ueTation  to  discover  it  was  assumed,  and  that  his  real 
opposition  was  very  different.  Had  he  been  observed 
attentively,  it  must  have  been  noticed,  that  though  he  bent 
to  aH  who  bestowed  on  him  alms,  that  he  glared  after  them 
witn  apparent  rage,  and  that  a  muttered  curse  broke  from  his 
lips;  while,  on  the  other  band,  those  who  passed  on  without 
noticing  him,  or  perhaps  merely  with  scorn,  were  surveyed 
with  evident  satisfaction.  None,  however,  thought  of  ob- 
serving the  motions  of  an  old  mendicant. 

It  was  now  sunset;  the  golden  rays  of  the  brightly  setting 
orb  of  day  gleamed  on  the  distant  spires  of  Frankfort;  and 
the  concourse  of  passengers  seemed  rather  to  increase  than 
diminish.  At  this  time  there  came  riding  by,  a  young  lady 
of  exquisite  beauty,  and  evident  high  descent;  she  rode  with 
tnai  elegance  and  true  dignity,  which  nought  but  noble  birth 
can  bestow.  Her  age  appeared  about  eighteen,  and  with  her 
veil  down,  consequently  permitting  but  such  a  transient  and 
occasional  view  of  her  face,  as  the  wild  zephyrs  capriciously 
chose  to  allow;  she  surveyed,  with  evident  surprise  and 
curiosity,  the  moving  mass  of  persons  pursuing  the  same  route 
;is  herself.  She  was  attended  by  a  middle-aged  man,  who 
rode  at  a  respectful  distance  behind  her,  and,  carefully 
watching  all  passers,  appeared  anxious  to  guard  his  young 
n.'istress  from  insult.  A  turn  on  the  road  showed  her  the 
being  we  have  described:  her  gentle  bosom  was  touched  with 
pity,  and,  reining  in  her  well-trained  steed,  she  threw  two  rix- 
dollars  into  his  cap,  and  then,  smiling  kindly  on  him,  rode 
forward.  The  mendicant  bent  lowly,  and,  after  she  had 
passed,  his  usual  half-muttered,  half-mental  curse  burst  forth. 
it  reached  the  ears  of  her  attentive  retainer,  who,  darting  a 
IOOK  of  rage  upon  the  beggar  as  he  passed,  cried — 

"  Wretch  that  thou  art!  is  this  thy  gratitude?-  If  thy  life 
were  w  orth  taking,  I  would  destroy  thee  on  the  spot." 

••  rio'id !  hold !"  screamed  the  mendicant,  "  one  instant  only." 


THE    KING    AM)    THE    MENDICANT.  ^f) 

A  sentiment  of  curiositv  induced  the  sorviror  '.->  •>'.•.  j  •••?  "is 
liorse. 

"  Has  thy  mistress  a  lover?" 

"  What  if  she  has?" 

"  I  wish" — and  the  wretch  grinned  with  diaboiirav  maiir*?— 
"  1  wish  that  she  may  cause  the  destruction  of  nis  noav  ind 
soul !" 

The  bright  sword  sprung  from  its  scabbard:  ere  he  b'lned 
it  in  the  body  of  the  speaker,  a  glance  assured  tins  laitnr'il 
servant  that  his  mistress  was  out  of  sight;  and,  merely  darting 
a  look  of  contempt  on  the  object  of  his  rage,  he  rode  off.  T'ie 
latter  surveyed  him,  as  he  speedily  disappeared,  witn  IOOKS 
of  satisfaction  mingled  with  hate,  lifted  the  rix-dollars  from 
his  rap,  pluced  them  in  his  bosom,  and  resumed  his  meek  and 
humble  appearance. 

Amongst  the  multiplicity  of  passers,  there  almost  imme- 
diately followed  a  young  man,  splendidly  dressed,  evidently 
of  superior  rank;  his  horse,  gaily  caparisoned,  pranced  cheer- 
fully along,  and  by  his  looks  one  would  judge  that  the  heart 
of  liis  rider  felt  not  a  single  care.  And,  in  good  truth,  the 
heart  of  the  young,  handsome,  amiable,  and  rich  Count  Roqtie 
Schlemil,  had  hitherto  experienced  but  a  very  trifling  portion 
«.f  those  manifold  ills  with  which  poor  mortality  is  tormented. 
The  looks  of  the  beggar  caught  his  eye,  and  he  drew  up  his 
.iorse  precisely  opposite  to  him,  searched  one  pocket,  then 
another,  and  it  became  apparent  that  his  purse  had  been 
forgot. 

"  Good  old  man,"  he  said,  with  kindly  accent,  "  I  would 
willingly  tender  thee  assistance,  but  my  purse  I  have  lor- 
j;-otten:  be  here  to-morrow  morning,  and  I  will  repay  thee  for 
i his  disappointment." 

"  Thanks,  sir,"  answered  the  mendicant,  "  for  thy  kind  in- 
tentions: I  will  be  here  to-morrow,  and  will  then  bestow  on 
\  ou  a  thing  which  is  necessary  for  your  perfect  happiness/' 

The  count  looked  on  him  with  some  disdain:  he  continued: — 

"  Smile,  Sir  Noble,  an'  ye  will,  but  so  it  is;  without  that 
which  I  can  give,  you  never  can  be  happy." 

Roque  had  ridden  off  without  listening  to  the  last  words. 

"  What,"  thought  he,  "  can  I  want,  which  that  wretched 
being  can  bestow?  I  am  rich — I  am  tolerably  handsome — I 
am  a  universal  favourite — the  lady  whom  I  have  chosen 
loves  me,  and,  two  days  after  the  fair,  we  are  to  be  united. 
Oh!  'tis  evident  this  poor  being  is  insane:"  and  he  smiled 
with  contempt. 


260  TALES  OF  OTHER  DAYS. 

"  Many  a  slip  between  the  cup  and  the  lip,"  says  the  old 
proverb;  and  so  it  proved,  even  with  Roque,  though  a  wealthy 
Count  of  the  Holy  Empire.  Shortly  afterwards,  the  eye  of 
Count  Schlemil  suddenly  brightened:  he  raised  himself  in 
his  stirrups,  peered  forward  with  surprise  and  delight — then 
dashing  the  spurs  furiously  to  the  sides  of  his  courser,  sprung 
forward. 

"Ah!  Philip!"  he  ejaculated,  addressing  the  servitor 
whom  we  have  noticed  before,  and  who  returned  this  saluta- 
tion with  a  low  bow;  "  is  that  the  lady  Rosalie?" 

"  Ay  sir,"  was  the  reply. 

"  Why,  what  has  brought  her  here,  in  this  crowded  road, 
this  evening?"  and  then,  without  waiting  for  an  answer, 
another  instant  conveyed  him  to  the  side  of  his  lady-love. 
We  will  suppose  the  first  congratulations  over,  and  then 
Roque  expressed  his  unfeigned  astonishment,  that  the  lady 
Rosalie  Steindorff  should  choose  so  dusty  a  road  for  her 
evening  ride. 

"  The  fact  is,  dear  Roque,"  answered  she,  who  had 
relieved  the  begsrar,  "  something  more  than  a  mere  wish  to 
breathe  the  evening  air,  has  brought  me  here:  I  wish  to  make 
a  purchase  at  Frankfort." 

"  Indeed!"  replied  Roque,  as  much  offended  as  he  could 
possibly  be  with  one  whom  he  adored:  "  when  I  inquired, 
fair  lady,  for  your  commands  at  Frankfort,  this  morning,  you 
assured  me  that  you  had  none;  if  you  had  thought  proper  to 
mention  that  you  must  go  in  person,  you  well  know  that  I 
should  have  been  transported  to  have  accompanied  yon."  A 
pause  ensued.  Roque  looked  offended,  and  Rosalie  confused. 
A  few  more  minutes  passed,  and  he  added: — 

"  Perchance  my  presence  was  not  desired:  as  I  scorn  to 
intrude,  I  will  wish  you,  fair  lady,  a  pleasant  ride,  a  safe 
return,  and  success  to  .your  mission,  whatever  it  may  be;"  the 
last  words  with  no  trifling  degree  of  bitterness.  He  turned 
his  horse's  head  from  hers;  but  when  Rosalie  glanced  towards 
him,  some  minutes  afterwards,  he  was  still  riding  by  her  side: 
a  thoughtless  laugh  escaped  her,  and  his  proud  spirit  became 
thoroughly  inflamed. 

"  By  Heaven!  this  is  beyond  endurance  !"  and,  spurring  his 
horse,  he  moved  quickly  forward,  and  would  now,  in  reality, 
have  departed,  had  not  the  soft  voice  of  Rosalie  in  an  instant 
changed  trs  purpose. 

"  Dear  Roque,"  she  said,  and  her  eye  glistened  with  a 
ready  tear,  "I  have  pained  you! — will  you  pardon  me  ?"  As 


THE    RING    AND    THE    MENDICANT.  261 

she  spoke,  her  hand  was  extended:  need  we  reo',fl'.  .10 
Count's  answer?  After  a  few  minutes,  Rosalie  cor.;;au^..— 

"  In  truth,  the  commission  on  which  I  am  nosv  en.p.^el, 
this  very  morning  was  not  needed." 

"  I  can  swear,  Rosalie,  it  is  some  charitable  impulse  r^.  ih 
leads  you  now  to  Frankfort." 

"  I  blush  to  own,  Roquc,"  and  she  cast  her  eyes  down,  it 
is  the  most  selfish  purpose  which  induced  me  *»  *v>mi  :-..& 
steps  to  yon  city.  1  see  you  ready  to  dispute  the  tact;  ai.a  I 
will  therefore  state  the  real  motive,  and  thus  most  willi  ;^'.y 
convince  you.  It  is  a  dream,  Roque." 

"  A  dream!" 

"  Yes — a  mere  unsubstantial,  airy  vision.  I  know  you 
thought  me  superior  to  such  weakness;  but,  alas!  Ruque,  I 
am  often  but  a  mere,  weak  woman." 

"  A  divinity!  a  goddess!  with  just  enough  of  mortal  failings 
to  convince  us  you  belong  to  earth!  But  tell  rne  about  t:.is 
dream." 

"  Well,  then,  to  tell  my  story  briefly:  yesterday  I  visited 
Frankfort,  for  the  purpose  of  choosing  some  trifling  articles 
of  jewellery;  among  the  other  curiosities,  I  beheld  a  ring 
formed  of  a  green  diamond  set  in  gold,  arid  this,  the  jeweller 
assured  me,  was  the  only  one  ever  made.  I  felt  a  foolish 
wish  to  possess  it,  and  inquired  the  price:  fifty  florins,  however, 
I  thought  too  much,  and  consequently  diil  not  become  the 
purchaser.  No  thought  of  this  ring  lurked  in  my  mind,  when, 
this  afternoon,  scarce  two  hours  since,  sleep  suddenly  over- 
powered me,  and  I  fancied  that  a  voice  murmured  in  my  ear, 
'  Rosalie,  unless  the  green  diamond  ring  is  thine,  no  happi- 
ness will  abide  in  thy  bosom.  Haste  to  secure  it.'  Oh, 
Roque,  that  voice,  so  deep,  so  solemn !  it  yet  sounds  in  my 
ear.  The  impression  this  vision  has  made  upon  my  mind  is 
most  powerful.  Though  my  heart  condemns  the  folly  of  my 
conduct,  as  I  know  you  do,  yet  I  feel — 1  feel,  the  words  are 
truth;  I  shall  be  miserable  if  I  do  not  possess  that  ring." 

"  Then,  dearest  Rosalie,  your  wish  shall  be  gratified;  I 
will — but  stop,  have  I  permission  to  accompany  you  ?" 

The  conversation  which  ensued  may  be  easily  imagined, 
and  is  of  no  relative  importance  to  our  story:  enough  will  it 
be  to  say,  that  Philip  discovered  his  young  mistress  stood  not 
in  need  of  his  protection. 

To  the  lovers  it  seemed  that  scarce  a  minute  had  sufficed  to 
carry  them  to  Frankfort;  and,  leaving  their  horses  in  charge 
of  Philip,  they  entered  the  shop  of  the  jeweller.  Unwilling 
13 


262  TALES  OF  OTHER  DAYS. 

to  confess  that  she  had  come  wholly  to  purchase  the  toy,  she 
desired  to  view  his  collection  of  rings.  These  the  bowing1 
man  of  trade  immediately  exhibited,  and  Rosalie  hastily  sur- 
veyed them:  a  sudden  emotion  paled  her  cheek. 

"  You  alarm  me!"  cried  Roque;  "  dearest  Rosalie,  what 
causes  this  agitation? — are  you  ill?" 

"  Oh,  Roque!  the  green  diamond  ring  is  gone!"  and  she 
clung  to  the  table  for  support. 

In  the  eyes  of  the  Count  this  agitation,  nay,  even  horror, 
because  a  trifling  bauble  could  not  be  obtained,  appeared 
ludicrous;  and  he  burst  into  a  fit  of  uncontrollable  laughter. 
Rosalie  possessed  a  large  stock  of  pride,  like  all  the  German 
nobility,  and,  like  all  handsome  ladies,  a  portion  of  vanity; 
and  both  these  were  violently  offended  by  the  unlucky  risi- 
bility of  the  Count. 

"  Laugh,  Sir  Count,"  she  angrily  said,  "an' ye  will:  this  I 
assure  you — until  you  bring  me  that  ring,  I  will  not  again  be- 
hold you;"  and  she  haughtily  left  the  shop. 

"  Dearest,  hear  me  !  oh,  forgive  my  folly!"  frantically  cried 
the  Count,  as  the  difficulties  which  might  attend  his  search 
flashed  across  his  mind.  He  caught  her  hand,  it  was  instantly 
withdrawn,  and,  giving  it  to  Philip,  he  assisted  her  to  mount, 
and  then  followed  towards  the  castle  of  the  Baron  de  Stein- 
dorff. 

Poor  Roque  remained  in  a  species  of  stupor,  leaning 
against  the  doorway  of  the  jeweller;  and  the  latter,  pitying 
his  evident  distress,  soothingly  said — 

"  Do  not  be  grieved,  sir;  the  lady's  whim,  I  have  no  doubt, 
we  can  easily  gratify."  Hope  catches  at  straws. 

"  Think  you  so? — as  how'r"  eagerly  demanded  Roque. 

"  The  ring  was  purchased  of  me  last  night  by  a  merchant 
with  whom  I  am  acquainted:  it  was  his  intention  to  proceed 
to  Vienna,  and  offer  the  curiosity  to  the  attention  of  the 
nobility  there  resident.  He  purposes,  however,  staying  here 
during  the  fair,  and  has  taken  up  his  abode  at  but  a  trifling 
instance  hence.  If  you  please,  I  will  send  one  of  my  men 
with  any  offer  you  like  to  make." 

"  Av,  do  so;  for  the  ring  I  will  give  any  sum;  ten  times  its 
worth." 

The  man  was  sent,  and  Roque  remained  in  a  state  of  the 
most  miserable  uncertainty  until  his  return.  He  felt  con- 
vinced that  Rosalie  was  deeply  offended,  and  that  nothing 
but  a  speedy  fulfilment  of  her  commands  would  satisfy  her 
wounded  pride.  At  length  the  man  returned,  but  brought 


THE    RING    AND    THE    MENDICANT.  263 

the  unwelcome  intelligence  that  the  merchant  had  sold  the 
ring,  at  a  large  advance  on  the  original  price,  to  a  man  with 
whom  he  was  perfectly  unacquainted,  some  hours  back. 

"  Can  you  not  make  another,  precisely  similar?"  demanded 
Roque. 

"  No,  sir;  that  is  impossible:  it  is  the  only  green  diamond 
I  ever  beheld,  nor  do  I  believe  there  is  another  in  Europe." 

Roque  was  now  in  perfect  despair;  he  paced  the  shop  with 
all  the  gestures  of  madness;  and,  in  fact,  was  little  short  of  a 
lunatic.  Suddenly,  the  mysterious  words  of  the  mendicant 
occurred  to  his  memory,  and,  darting  out,  he  vaulted  upon  his 
horse,  and,  urging  him  to  his  utmost  speed,  sought  the  spot 
where  he  had  met  with  the  old  beggar.  The  sun  was  now  below 
the  horizon,  but  the  groups  of  wayfarers  were  still  numerous. 
With  feverish  haste,  Roque  sought  the  spot  where  he  had  met 
the  mendicant — he  was  gone. 

"  He  said  the  morning,"  gloomily  muttered  Roque.  "  Well! 
I  will  be  here;  probably  he  will  assist  me." 

"  Ay,  that  he  will,"  said  a  voice  from  one  of  the  groups  of 
passers,  apparently  in  reply  to  some  preceding  observation  of 
a  companion;  but  Roque  seized  it  as  a  favourable  omen,  and 
bent  his  way  towards  his  own  magnificent  mansion,  which 
stood  about  half  a  mile  from  the  castle  of  the  Baron  de 
Steindorff,  the  father  of  Rosalie,  and  eight  times  that  distance 
from  Frankfort. 

"  And  yet,"  thought  Roque,  when  the  solitude  of  his 
chamber  prevented  other  ideas  from  disturbing  his  rnind, 
"  the  chance  that  a  miserable  old  man,  forced  to  beg  for  daily 
subsistence,  should  be  able  to  procure  me  a  green  diamond 
ring,  is  poor  indeed;  the  very  idea  is  absurd;"  and  yet, 
though  convinced  of  his  folly,  he  clung  to  it  pertinaciously. 
And  thus  it  is  with  human  nature;  we  are  ever  credulous  in 
believing  that  which  we  wish  to  be  true,  however  ridiculous 
it  may  appear  to  a  dispassionate  observer.  Roque  slept  little 
that  night;  and  the  earliest  peep  of  dawn  found  him  riding 
along  the  road  where  he  had,  the  preceding  evening,  seen  the 
mendicant. 

Long  ere  Rosalie  had  reached  her  father's  castle  all  her  anger 
had  vanished,  and  had  given  place  to  softer  emotions:  she 
forgot  the  impertinent  laugh  of  her  lover,  and  recollected  only 
the  deprecating  sorrow  which  was  pictured  on  his  face,  as  she 
withdrew  her  hand,  and  scorned  his  entreaties  for  pardon. 
The  ring  was  no  longer  thought  of,  or  only  regarded  as  the 
fatal  cause  of  a  serious  quarrel.  Deeply  engaged  in  these 


264  TALES  OF  OTHER  DAYS. 

meditations,  Rosalie  had  reached  home  without  vouchsafing 
one  look  on  the  beautiful  scene  around,  or  wasting  one 
thought  on  the  pleasant  evening  hour.  In  fact,  she  was 
thoroughly  dissatisfied  with  her  own  conduct,  and  resolved, 
thf.t  should  not  the  morrow  bring  Roque,  as  usual,  to  the 
castle,  to  endeavour  to  convey  to  him  the  intelligence  that 
she  had  half  relented,  and  was  ready  to  tender  a  gracious 
pardon,  on  being  most  earnestly  entreated  to  do  so. 

Rosalie  had  anticipated  the  early  morn  would  have  seen 
her  lover  at  the  castle,  endeavouring  to  palliate  his  fault;  but 
she  was  wrong,  and  the  morning  past  without  his  appearing1: 
nay,  even  the  hour  at  which  they  were  accustomed  to  ride 
out  together  slowly  fled  without  bringing  him,  and  the  bright 
summer  sun  shone  so  joyously,  it  could  not  be  the  weather 
which  had  detained  him. 

"  He  is  offended  with  my  foolish  anger  last  even,"  thought 
Rosalie — for  the  idea  that  Roque  was  endeavouring  to  fulfil 
commands  given  in  a  moment  of  passion,  never  occurred — • 
"  and  waits  for  me  to  make  the  first  overture  of  reconciliation: 
nay,  then  he  shall  be  disappointed;  he  was  the  aggressor,  and 
must  sue  to  me  for  pardon."  Rosalie  went  to  her  harp,  and 
close  by  it  she  saw  lying  the  duet  which  they  had  practised 
together  the  preceding  day;  she  pushed  it  away,  and  opened 
her  desk;  the  first  thing  which  met  her  eye  was  a  copy  of 
verses  addressed  to  her  by  Roque;  in  short,  everything  re- 
minded her  of  him,  and,  throwing  on  her  cloak,  she  joined  her 
father  in  the  garden. 

"  Why,  my  love,"  was  his  first  salutation,  "  what  can  have 
become  of  Count  Schlemil?  this  is  the  first  day  which  has 
past  for  months,  without  our  seeing  him." 

"  In  truth,  my  father,  I  last  night  somewhat  angered  him; 
but  the  day  is  not  yet  past." 

"  True,  not  yet,  but  the  evening  hour  is  not  far  distant:  is 
it  a  serious  quarrel?  I  presume  not,  though,"  and  the  baron 
smiled;  "  suppose  we  ride  to  his  house,  and  inquire  whether 
he  is  willing  to  be  reconciled,  as  I  will  swear  the  offended 
party  is  ?" 

"  Oh,  no ! — at  least  I  will  not  go  myself,  for  he  was  the 
aggressor." 

Was  he?  what  did  he  do, then — anything  very  heinous?" 

"  He  laughed  at  me,  and  now  you  are  going  to  do  the 
same." 

"  And  is  that  all,  Rosalie?  Nonsense,  come  with  me;  I 
wiil  be  the  peace-maker.  But  pause — yonder  is  his  favourite 


THE    RING    AND    THE    MENDICANT.  2o.> 

servant,  Hoffman,  riding  at  full  speed  towards  us,  bringiii;> 
despatches  full  of  prayers  for  pardon,  and  entreaties  for  kind 
smiles,  I  doubt  not;"  and  Rosalie  blushed  with  pleasure,  and 
was  not  able  to  conceal  her  delight  at  this  intimation.  A 
short  time  passed,  and  Hoffman,  cap  in  hand,  was  seen 
approaching  them  from  the  castle.  There  was  a  something 
of  ill  tidings  in  his  face,  which  made  Rosalie  shudder,  and  a 
half  presentiment  of  evil  caused  her  to  cling  more  closely  to 
her  father's  arm. 

"  Well,  Hoffman,  what  news  from  your  master?  Why  has 
he  not  been  here  ? — is  he  ill  ?" 

Hoffman  seemed  thoroughly  amazed  at  this  address:  he 
stood,  without  attempting  an  answer,  first  playing  with  the 
cap  in  his  hands,  and  then  looking  at  the  baron  and  his 
daughter,  with  stupid  astonishment.  But  Steindorff  well 
knew  that  Hoffman  was  anything  but  stupid,  and  that  his 
attachment  to  his  master  was  remarkably  strong.  This  know- 
ledge induced  him  to  surmise  that  some  event  had  occurred 
which  Hoffman  was  unwilling  to  detail,  although  he  could 
not  prevent  his  anger,  on  beholding  the  servitor  stand  so  im- 
moveable,  from  partly  bursting  forth. 

"  Why,  how  now!  stupid  fellow?  tell  us  what  thou  hast  to 
gay,  quickly.  Surely  thy  master's  wine  cup  and  thee  have 
been  forming  acquaintance !" 

"  Oh,  no,  my  lord,  not  so;  but  my  aear,  kind  master,  what 
is  become  of  him  ?  He  went  out  early  this  morning,  and  has 
not  vet  returned:  we  thought  he  was  here;  and  despatches  of 
importance  have  arrived  from  Vienna,  which  should  be 
answered  immediately." 

"  And  is  that  all,  you  foolish  fellow  ?  Your  master  has, 
doubtlessly,  gone  to  view  the  fair,  and,  having  discovered  some 
of  his  companions  there,  is  spending  the  day  jovially.  But  in 
truth  he  might  have  asked  me  to  have  accompanied  him — a 
favour  which  I  would  have  granted  with  pleasure.  Come, 
cheer,  fair  daughter  of  mine,  Schlemil  is  but  endeavouring  to 
forget  thy  displeasure  in  ruby  wine,  and,  when  tired  of  that, 
will  fly  to  thee  for  pardon.  And.  as  to  those  despatches,  let 
them  take  their  chance — the  morrow  must  serve." 

"  Alas !  my  lord !  I  fear  your  conjectures  are  wrong,"* 
replied  Hoffman,  mournfully,  nothing  elated  by  the  cheerful 
manner  of  the  baron:  "many  circumstances  induce  me,  and 
the  steward,  and  all  Count  Schlemil's  household,  to  imagine 
that  some  ill  has  befallen  him.  He  never  went  to  bed,  but 
was  pacing  his  chamber  all  night,  and  he  has  taken  a  very 

A  A 


266  TALES    OF    OTHER    TV.Y". 

large  sum  of  money  with  him,  and  the  groom  that  saddled 
his  horse  at  dawn,  this  morning,  says  that  he  appeared  in  a 
state  of  violent  agitation;  and,  moreover,  my  lord,  the  horse 
which  he  rode  has  been  found  on  the  high  road  to  Frankfort, 
without  a  rider,  and  the  saddle  slipped  from  its  place,  and" — 
Rosalie  had  grown  fainter  and  fainter  during  this  relation, 
and  now  hung,  devoid  of  sense  or  feeling,  in  the  arms  of  her 
alarmed  parent.  Without  waiting  to  hear  the  remainder  of 
Hoffman's  statement,  the  baron  bore  her  to  the  castle,  and 
here  her  numerous  maidens  sought  by  every  means  to  restore 
animation;  but  it  was  long  ere  Rosalie  awoke  once  more  to 
life  and  misery. 

****** 

lloque  was  but  a  young  lover;  he  fancied  that  the  command 
of  his  mistress  once  given  must  be  positively  executed,  ere  he 
could  again  present  himself  in  her  presence.  Consequently, 
instead  of  hasting  to  the  castle,  as  Rosalie  had  anticipated, 
and  there  seeking  to  make  his  peace  by  exerting  his  power  over 
her  affections,  he  sedulously  endeavoured,  by  every  means 
which  he  could  employ,  to  perform  the  exact  commands, 
which  she,  impelled  by  momentary  anger,  had  imposed  upon 
turn. 

On  arriving  at  the  spot  where  the  mendicant  had  been 
seated  the  preceding  day,  he  discovered  no  traces,  as  vet,  of 
him,  and  was  forced  to  parade  about  for  several  hours,  ere 
that  important  personage  appeared.  As  the  morning  ad- 
vanced, all  the  love  and  despair  which  tormented  the  heart 
of  Roque,  could  not  prevent  the  pangs  of  hunger  becoming 
violent;  and,  finding  that  the  being  he  wished  to  behold  did 
not  arrive,  he  directed  his  steps  to  Frankfort,  and,  forcing  his 
way  through  the  crowded  streets,  sought  a  place  wherein  to 
break  his  fast,  which  is,  especially  to  a  German  stomach, 
most  unbearable.  A  few  minutes  sufficed  to  satisfy  his 
hunger,  and  he  turned  once  more  towards  that  place  which 
had  been  the  station  of  the  beggar.  There  he  sat,  precisely 
in  the  same  posture  as  the  preceding  evening,  his  eyes  wear- 
ing a  meek  and  lowly  look,  bent  on  the  ground,  and  the  cap, 
meant  to  shelter  his  head,  lying  by  his  side,  tacitly  imploring 
the  contributions  of  the  charitable.  Roque  stopped  his  horse 
before  this  being,  and  addressed  him  thus: — 

"  Good-morrow,  friend;  here  am  I  to  perform  my  promise," 
and  he  threw  a  florin  in  the  cap.  The  beggar  looked  at  him 
inquiringly,  as  he  lifted  the  coin  and  placed  it  in  his  bo- 
som." 


THE    RING     AND    THE    MENDICANT.  *20< 

"  Hast  thou  no  motive  save  that  of  charity,  Sir  Count,  for 
being  here  so  punctually?" 

•"  Yes;  you  promised  to  nesto\v  on  me  something  which 
should  rentier  me  happy.  Can  you  fulfil  your  words?" 

The  mendicant  smiled  maliciously.  "  What  can  I  give 
which  can  render  the  lot  of  Count  Schlemil  more  felicitous?" 

"  I  desire,"  replied  Roqne,  "  a  ring  formed  of  a  green  dia- 
mond set  in  gold.  I  do  not  suppose  you  possess  so  singular 
a  curiosity,  but  can  you  direct  me  where  to  procure  it?  Well 
shall  you  be  rewarded."  In  spite  of  his  hopes  and  fears, 
Koque  could  scarce  forbear  smiling,  when  he  reflected  on  the 
absurdity  of  his  request;  and  yet,  a  strange  sensation  of  joy 
fluttered  in  his  heart,  when  he  observed  that  it  was  heard 
without  any  expression  of  absolute  denial.  A  short  pause 
ensued. 

"  Within  the  miserable  hut  which  shelters  these  aged  limbs 
from  the  angry  elements,  I  have  a  box  which  doth  contain  some 
few  most  curious  articles,  gathered  in  my  long  intercourse 
with  the  world;  I  know  not,  Sir  Count,  if  there  is  in  it  that 
which  thou  desirest,  but  if  thou  wilt  follow,  we  will  search 
together." 

"  Surely,"  said  Schlernil,  impatient  by  nature,  now  doubly 
so,  "  surely  you  must  well  know  if  possessed  of  so  valuable  a 
jewel;  satisfy  all  doubts,  and  sav  you  have  it?" 

"  Nay,  nay,  if  1  must  answer  thee  without  delay,  I  would 
say,  I  have  it  not." 

"Hold!  rather  than  receive  that  fatal  answer,  I  will 
follow  and  search  with  you." 

The  old  man  rose,  replaced  the  cap  upon  his  head,  and, 
leaning  on  his  stick,  moved  in  an  opposite  direction  to  that 
which  led  to  the  city.  Roqne  rode  by  his  side,  by  no  means 
relishing  the  smiles  and  jeers  of  the  passers,  commenting  upon 
the  strange  companion  he  had  chosen,  and  inquiring  what  re- 
lationship bound  them  together.  Willingly  would  he  have* 
immolated  these  jesters  on  the  spot,  but  the  beggar,  aided  by 
his  staff,  moved  tolerably  fast;  and  he  feared,  that  should  he 
lose  sight  of  him,  all  chance  of  obtaining  the  ring  would  like- 
wise vanish.  This  consideration  induced  him  to  suppress  Ins 
ire,  although  his  fiery  looks  expressed  with  what  difficulty  this 
command  of  his  passions  was  retained.  His  companion  ap- 

K eared   not  to  hear  the  words  of  those  around   him,   nor  to 
ecu    their   motions;  deep  thought  enveloped  his  facilities. 
Suddenly  he  stopped;  it  was  about  the  centre  of  the  finest, 
through  uhich  winds  the  road  from  Darmstadt  to  Franki'.ii. 


268  T ALLS   oj    or;;i.H    I>AVS. 

"  Sir  Count,"  he  said,  "  you  must  dismount;  we  turn  to  tow 
left,  and  no  horse  can  thread  these  dark  intricacies." 

"  And  wherefore  must  we  enter  this  gloomy  labyrinth?" 
demanded  Roqu*»-  arc1  h?  t*:ou?Uf,  r -•"••'!  nice,  this  is  some 
snare,  and  murderers  lurk  in  yonder  shades. 

"  The  roof  which  shelters  me  is  reared  within  it;  once 
more,  dismount  and  follow  me;"  and  he  entered  among  the 
trees. 

Although  boiling  with  rage  at  these  imperative  words,  the 
all-powerful  motive  which  had  hitherto  impelled  the  Coil"*, 
still  possessed  its  sway,  and,  springing  from  his  saddle,  ne  to-- 
lowed the  mendicant.  The  gallant  steed,  unused  to  hoertr, 
immediately  bounded  away,  and,  in  his  joyful  gambols,  dis- 
placed the  saddle,  and,  being  found  shortly  afterwards  by  some 
of  his  master's  retainers,  gave  rise  to  the  alarm  which  quickly 
spread  throughout  the  household. 

No  word  escaped  the  lips  of  either  Roqueorhis  conductor, 
as  they  threaded  the  gloomy  shades;  the  latter  appeared  once 
more  lost  in  thought,  and  the  former  was  agitated  by  many 
conflicting:  sensations,  although  he  closely  watched  the  mo- 
tions of  his  mysterious  companion.  For  nearly  an  hour  did 
they  traverse  where  no  path  marked  an  approach  to  human 
habitations;  not,  indeed,  without  causing  many  expressions  of 
impatience  from  Roque,  most  of  which  were  unanswered  by 
the  mendicant,  and  others  replied  to  merely  by  inquiries, 
whether  he  would  wish  to  return  without  obtaining  his  object. 

"  Patience,  young  noble,"  he  would  sneeririgly  add,  "  is  the 
most  necessary  ingredient  of  life!" 

It  was  now  noon:  the  heat  would  have  been  excessive,  had 
not  the  leafy  trees  prevented  the  burning  rays  of  the  sun 
from  descending  into  the  wild  forest  glades  they  were  tra- 
versing. 

"  By  Heaven!"  exclaimed  Roque,  stopping  suddenly,  "  I 
will  jjo  no  further — you  do  but  mock  me." 

Without  words,  the  beggar  silently  pointed  to  where  the 
trees,  grow  ing  somewhat  widely  apart,  disclosed  a  rudelv  con- 
structed hut;  a  few  seconds  brought  them  upon  the"  little 
knoll  where  it  stood,  and  the  mendicant,  lifting  the  latch, 
entered,  followed  closely  by  his  companion.  It  consisted  of 
one  room,  desolate  in  its  appearance,  and  without  the  slightest 
article  of  furniture,  save  one  old  stool,  and  a  large  chest;  a 
quantity  of  fire-wood  was  piled  in  one  corner,  and  on  the 
nearth  yet  glimmered  a  few  dying  embers,  apparently  the  re- 
mains of  a  huge  tire,  which  had  burnt  away.  Seating  himself 


THE    RING    AND    THE    MENDICANT.  269 

on  trie  stool,  the  beggar  looked  at  Roque,  and,  pointing  to  the 
wood,  said — 

"  Throw  some  on  the  fire!" 

It  is  impossible  to  describe  the  rage  which  inspired  the 
bosom  of  the  Count  at  this  command.  Folding  his  arms 
proudly  on  his  breast,  he  angrily  said — 

"  If  you  have  the  jewel  which  1  require,  produce  it  imme- 
diately: if  not,  I  will  immolate  you  on  the  spot." 

"  Truly,  Sir  Count,"  (sneeringly.)  "  a  valorous  exploit, 
nathless,  I  will  excuse  vour  replenishing  the  fire;  but  reach 
me  yon  box;  it  is  that  which  doth  contain  my  riches." 

Roque  commanded  himself  sufficiently,  although  with  much 
difficulty,  to  execute  this  order,  and  dragged  it  to  where  the 
old  man  sat,  who  applied  a  key  to  the  padlock  which  secured 
it,  and  lifted  the  lid.  Roque  peered  in  with  curiosity;  it 
comprised  a  strange  medley  of  articles: — mouldy  crusts,  bones, 
bits  of  rusty  iron,  several  pieces  of  gold,  divers  articles  of 
jewellery,  and  a  human  skull.  This  last  the  beggar  lifted,  pre- 
sented it  to  the  Count,  and  smiling,  with  a  peculiar  ex- 
pression, uttered — 

"Seest  thou  this,  Sir  Noble?  ah!  thou  shudderest!  yet 
this  must  thou  come  to!"  He  threw  it  from  him  with  force: 
it  rolled  across  the  stone  floor,  with  a  sound  which  to  Roque 
appeared  frightful.  It  is  well  known  that  a  human  skull, 
when  rolling  on  the  ground,  produces  a  noise  resembling  no 
other  in  nature.  The  mendicant  continued  searching  in  the 
chest,  and  then  produced  a  ring. 

"  Is  this  what  thou  desirest'r"  He  held  it  towards  him: 
Roque  snatched  it  eagerly,  and  a  joyful  exclamation  passed 
his  lips. 

"  Yes,  yes  !  this  is  the  green  diamond  ring ! — thy  price ! — 
be  speedy — what  is  thy  price  ?" 

"  My  demands  are  moderate:  perform  one  action  which  1 
shall  name,  and  the  ring  is  thine." 

"  Say,  what  must  I  do!'" 

"  First  swear  to  execute  what  I  shall  dictate." 

"  Assure  me,  that  it  militates  not  against  my  honour,  my 
religion,  or  mv  country,  and  I  will  readily  swear — not  other- 
wise." 

The  mendicant  laughed. 

"  Vain  mortal !  what  is  thy  honour?  A  phantom,  a  bubble 
a  vision  of  air;  created  by  man,  and  worshipped  by  its 
creator.  And  what  is  thy  religion  ?  Merely  a  certain  form 

A 


270  TALES    OF    OT!!F.">     DAY*. 

to  which  long  habit  huth  rendered  thee  attached.  Truly,  nnr 
well  dost  thou  perform  its  ordinances.  Thou  acknowledges".1 
a  certain  faith  to  he  true  and  real,  and  yet  actest  contrary  t< 
its  most  earnest  precepts:  thou  confessest  its  doctrines  to  IK 
most  wise,  and  dost  that  which  is  essentially  different.  And 
what  is  thy  country  ?  merely  a  small  space  of  the  globe, 
whose  inhabitants  differ  from  their  fellow-beings,  and  accord 
with  thee,  in  language  and  dress.  I  make  no  conditions: 
swear  to  perform  what  I  shall  name,  and  the  ring  is  thine." 

"  This  is  mere  trifling!  nay,  worse  than  trifling — it  is  a 
juggling  attempt  to  hide  the  villany  of  that  which  you  wish 
me  to  perform,  under  the  mask  of  deception.  No  !  I  will  nut 
swear.  Name  what  you  esteem  the  value — it  shall  be 
yours." 

A  short  pause  followed;  a  dark  and  gloomy  look  of  disap- 
pointment hung  on  the  visage  of  the  beggar;  suddenly,  a 
gleam  of  satisfaction  shone  in  his  eyes,  and  he  ejaculated — 

"  Give  me,  then,  its  weight  in  gold." 

Roque  was  amazed,  and  he  surveyed  the  speaker  with  a 
glance,  expressive  of  his  amazement. 

•'  The  weight  of  this!  why,  man,  thou  art  mad;  it  scarcely 
weighs  a  single  ounce." 

"  Diamonds,  Sir  Noble,  weigh  heavier  than  they  appear  to 
do:  1  shall  be  contented  with  w  hat  I  have  specified.  Do  you 
accept  my  offer 't" 

"  Willingly.  I  will  give  you  double  its  weight;"  and  he 
laughed  somewhat  contemptuously. 

"  Agreed !   I  hold  you  to  your  promise." 

He  produced  a  pair  of  scales  from  the  chest,  and,  throwing 
the  ring  in  on  one  side,  placed  some  ancient  weights 
against  it. 

"  Two  ounces,  Sir  Count,  is  its  weight;  you  promised  me 
double:  you  are,  therefore,  indebted  to  me  four  ounces  of 
pure  gold;  if  the  debt  is  not  discharged  ere  the  bright  sun 
sheds  its  last  rays  on  Frankfort,  dread  the  consequences;  a 
broketi  faith  with  me  is  ever  fearfully  revenged." 

"  That  last  absurd  threat,  old  man,"  replied  Rcque,  his  joy 
at  having  procured  the  ring,  struggling  with  his  pa«sion  at 
these  rude  words,  "might  have  been  snared:  I  will  pay  thee 
instantly."  It  has  been  already  stated,  that  Roque  took  a 
large  sum  of  money  with  him.  when  he  left  his  home  in  t\m 
early  morn,  for  the  purpose  of  securing  the  ring,  at  whatever 
price  the  avarice  of  the  seller  might  dictate;  this,  he  now 


THE    RING    AKD    THE    MENDICANT.  271 

recollected,  bad  been  securely  placed  within  a  portmanteau 
attached  to  his  saddle,  and,  of  course,  left  with  his  horse  iu 
the  public  road. 

44  I  liavo.*  he  said,"  left  the  sold  with  which  I  pn-p<.«ed  to 
pay  you,  witn  uiy  horse;  if  you  will  return  with  me,  1  will 
give  you  w  hat  you  demand." 

**  That  must  not  be.  I  move  not  from  here  until  von  have 
fulfilled  your  portion  of  the  contract.  Swear  to  do  so  ere  the 
son  has  sunk,  or  if  not,  return  to  me  yon  sparkling  jewel." 

44  I  swear  to  give  you  the  gold  ere  sunset:  by  all  my  hopes 
of  happiness,  I  swear." 

Tbe  mendicant,  apparently  satisfied,  amused  himself  by 
looking  over  the  multifarious  contents  of  the  chest,  saying,  as 
ne  did  so — 

44  If  the  horse,  Sir  Count,  is  thy  reliance,  it  is  but  an 
unstable  one,  for,  as  we  entered  the  forest,  I  saw  him  fly  down 
the  road  to  Frankfort." 

This  was  extremely  unpleasant  news  for  Roqne;  not 
because  the  loss  (though  a  large  sum)  would  injure  his  fortune, 
but  it  was  all  the  ready  gold  which  he  could  command  with- 
out the  assistance  of  his  steward,  and  that  would  emplov  time. 

44  I  must  to  my  castle,  then,"  he  said,  thoughtful! v;  "fare- 
well, old  man,  I  will  return  by  the  appointed  time;"  and  he 
quitted  the  but. 

****** 

It  was  several  hours  ere  Roque  reached  the  gate  of  his 
castle:  the  bewildering  path  through  the  forest,  and  his  own 
confusion  of  ideas,  had  rendered  it  no  easy  task  to  retrace  his 
devious  way;  and  when  he  summoned  the  i*orter  to  admit 
him,  it  wanted  scarce  an  hour  to  sunset. 

'•  Desire  Mein  Heir  Claud  to  attend  me  in  the  library,"  be 
said,  and,  rushing  through  the  crowd  of  menials,  whom  the 
return  of  their  voung  and  well-loved  master  had  called  to  the 
spot,  he  entered  the  apartment  he  had  named,  and  threw 
himself  on  one  of  the  settees  with  which  it  was  furnished 
Ere  the  feeble  old  steward  appeared,  a  variety  of  ideas  had 
l>assed  athwart  the  brain  of  Roque.  At  one  instant,  the 
beautiful,  adored  form  of  Rosalie  possessed  his  imagination, 
and  then  she  disappeared,  and  the  mendicant  presented  him- 
self:— "  Yes,  he  is  a  supernatural  being!  the  powers  of 
darkness  are  in  league  with  him;  and,  if  my  oath  is  not  per- 
formed, oh,  God!  what  will  be  my  fate!  Oh,  Rosalie. 
Rosalie,*  and  he  gazed  on  the  declining  son.  "  thou  hast 
dfstroved  me!" 


272  TALES  OF  OTHER  DAYS. 

The  old  steward  now  entered,  and  bowing,  waited  his 
master's  commands. 

"  Good  Peter,  I  want  four  ounces  of  pure  gold  imme- 
diately, and  direct  Hoffman  and  three  others  to  prepare 
horses  for  themselves  and  me,  and  likewise  some  torches, 
with  all  possible  speed." 

"  Your  will,  my  lord,  shall  be  obeyed,  as  far  as  is  in  my 
power.  Your  horse  was  found  this  morning  on  the  road  to 
Frankfort,  and  we  all  feared  some  accident  had  befallen  you: 
we  searched  along  the  road,  but  could  discover  no  traces  of 
you;  and,  some  time  back,  Hoffman  hastened  to  the  castle  of 
Steindorff',  in  hopes  you  might  be  there,  and  has  not  yet  re- 
turned." 

"  Then  bid  some  other  supply  his  place: — speed,  Claud, 
speed." 

The  old  man  bowed  and  withdrew;  Roque  sat  in  the  same 
posture,  so  deeply  involved  in  thought,  that  he  heeded  not 
an  extraordinary  bustle  in  the  outer  passage;  nor  was  it  until 
a  shout  of  joy  sounded  loudly  in  his  ear,  that  he  awoke  from 
his  waking  trance,  to  behold  Hoffman,  with  a  countenance  of 
most  expressive  delight,  standing  before  him,  and  the  Baron 
Steindorff  a  few  paces  distant,  supporting  the  form  of  his 
now  shrinking  daughter. 

Roque  started  from  his  seat. 

"  Baron,  this  visit  is  kind:  Lady  Rosalie — how  shall  I  ad- 
dress you?  Have  you  graciously  condescended  to  pardon  mv 
but  too  momentary  folly  ?" 

"  What  nonsense  is  this?"  exclaimed  the  baron,  "  the  girl 
has  been  fainting  and  weeping  all  day,  perplexing  me  most 
fearfully:  you  shall  marry  her  directly,  Roque,  and,  Heaven  in 
its  mercy  grant  she  may  never  plague  you,  as  she  has  me,  this 
day." 

Roque  caught  the  blushing  Rosalie  in  his  arms. 

"  Dearest,"  he  softly  w  hispered,  "  behold,  your  wish  is 
complied  with;"  and  he  placed  the  ring  on  her  ringer.  He 
fancied  that  the  look  and  smile  which  he  received,  well 
repaid  all  his  exertions;  but  Roque  was  a  lover. 

At  this  moment  the  door  was  thrown  open,  and  Peter 
Claud  entered,  to  inform  his  lord  that  his  orders  were 
obeyed,  and  his  retinue  in  waiting. 

The  recollection  of  what  he  had  yet  to  do  flashed  across 
his  mind;  he  glanced  upon  the  casement — the  last  ravs  of  the 
setting  sun  played  upon  it  He  started,  and  a  half  shout 
escaped  his  lips. 


THE    RING    AND    THE    MENDICANT.  27% 

"  I  am  called  ! — Baron  Steindorff — Rosalie — I  must  away 
I  pray  you  abide  here  until  my  return — I  will  then  explain;— 
Rosalie,  dearest  Rosalie,  farewell !"  He  relinquished  her 
from  his  embrace.  "  Hoffman,  attend  me!" 

He  rushed  from  the  apartment,  followed  by  his  servitor, 
and  leaving  the  baron  and  his  daughter  lost  in  amazement 
at  his  mysterious  words  and  conduct. 

A  few  moments  more  beheld  Roque,  attended  by  Hoffmai 
and  three  others,  wending  his  way  at  no  gentle  pace  towards 
the  forest:  the  sun  sunk  as  they  entered  its  gloomy  shades, 
and  it  became  necessary  to  light  the  torches  which  his  caution 
had  provided.  The  path  was,  in  some  degree,  now  remem- 
bered; and,  having  left  their  horses  to  the  care  of  one  man 
he  and  his  three  attendants  traversed  its  dismal  mazes.  No 
word  was  spoken;  Roque  remained  in  gloomy  thought;  and, 
although  many  wondering  looks  passed  between  his  astonished 
followers,  none  ventured  to  break  the  profound  silence  which 
their  master  observed. 

Somewhat  more  than  one  hour  had  passed,  and  they  found 
themselves  on  the  little  spot  of  ground  before  the  hut.  It 
stood  about  the  middle  of  the  open  space  which  was  sur- 
rounded by  the  aged  and  gloomy  inmates  of  the  forest;  awt 
when  seen  without  the  cheering  light  of  day,  and  merely 
beheld  by  the  aid  of  flashing  torches,  appeared  the  very  fixed 
abode  of  wretchedness  and  guilt;  a  light  was  seen  through 
the  broken  casement,  as  though  a  solitary  lamp  burnt  within. 
The  count  bid  his  followers  pause  at  the  distance  of  a  few 
yards  from  the  door,  and  then  demanded,  in  a  low  firm  tone — 

"  Have  either  of  you  a  bugle  ?" 

"  I  have,  my  lord,"  eagerly  cried  Hoffman;  "  but  surely  you 
will  not  enter  that  place  alone?  allow  me  to  accompany  you?" 

"  No,  Hoffman,  no,  it  must  not  be;  perchance,"  and  a 
ghastly  smile  overspread  his  features,  "  it  may  be  my  fate  to 
perish,  and  it  would  be  most  vile  in  me  to  expose  another  to 
a  like  fate:  no,  Hoffman — and  yet,  thy  fidelity  shall  not  go 
unrewarded;"  he  paused — drew  forth  his  tablets,  and  wrote : — 
"  Mem  Herr  Peter  Claud, 

"  I  bestow  on  Lawrence  Hoffman  five  hundred  florins; 
render  to  him  that  sum,  and  be  this  your  guarantee. 

"  ROQUE  SCHLEMIL." 

"  Give  that  to  the  steward;  and  Hoffman," — the  firm  voice 
faltered; — "  if  I  return  not  alive,  commend  me  well  to  toe 
lady  Rosalie:  tell  her  the  last  thought  which  I  gave  to  eartn 
was  bestowed  on  her." 


27-1  TAF.ES  <>:•    OTI:F.:;    DAYS. 

Hoffman  knelt:  big  tears  coursed  down  his  cheeks. 

"  My  lord,  I  entreat,  I  pray  you  not  to  enter  there;  it  a 
well  known  that  a  forest  fiend  haunts  that  hut" — 

"  Ah  !  I  knew  it  not!  what  form  beareth  he?" 

"  An  aged  mendicant." 

"  I  am  lost!" 

A  brighter  blaze  flashed  through  the  casement  of  the  hut, 
and  a  laugh  was  heard  within,  so  fearful,  so  unearthly  in  its 
sound,  that  it  chilled  the  hearts  of  the  hearers. 

"  Hoffman,  he  gave  me  a  ring:  fool  that  I  was,  I  accepted 
it:  the  condition  for  which  he  bargained  is  yet  unfulfilled: 
yet  will  t  not  die  without  a  struggle;  when  ye  hear  this  bugle, 
break  down  yon  fragile  door,  and  enter  the  hut." 

The  servitors  bowed:  Hoffman  could  not  speak,  and,  with 
steady,  unfaltering  step,  the  count  advanced,  and  laid  his 
hand  upon  the  latch.  No  men  are  braver  than  the  Germans, 
and  Roque  possessed  this  characteristic  of  his  countrymen  in 
an  eminent  degree.  It  was  not  a  fear  of  pain  or  death  which 
caused  his  heart  to  flutter,  and  his  hand  to  shake  as  he  lifted 
the  latch;  it  was  an  indefinable  sensation,  a  species  of  super- 
stitious terror,  a  feeling  that  he  was  about  to  witness,  nay,  to 
act  a  principal  part,  iirsome  frightful  scene  of  inairic,  which 
palsied  his  hand;  but,  in  another  fleeting  moment  he  was 
firm,  and,  throwing  open  the  door,  he  entered  the  hut.  It 
appeared  precisely  as  it  did  in  the  morning,  save  that  a  lamp, 
burning  on  the  chest,  shed  a  faint  glow  on  the  bare  walls  and 
miserable  interior  of  the  hovel.  There  sat  the  mendicant, 
_>xaet.ly  in  the  same  position  as  the  count  had  left  him  hours 
before,  and  looking  as  though  he  had  literally  fulfilled  his 
words,  and  had  not  moved  in  the  slightest  degree  since  that 
.irne;  Roque  advanced,  and  the  door  fell  to  behind  him. 
****** 

Hoffman,  and  they  who  had  accompanied  him,  watched 
jagcrly  the  hut  which  their  master  had  entered — their  torches 
jra-ped  firmly  in  one  hand,  and  their  drawn  swords  in  tlie 
jther.  A  loud  hum  of  voices  reached  their  ears,  and  sud- 
ienly,  the  count  vociferated  loudly: — 

"  Never,  b_v  Heaven!"  and  then  the  silence  triumphed 
igain  undisturbed.  A  few  n.inutes  passed,  and  the  wretched 
jascnieut  was  powerfully  illumined  by  a  strong  light  from 
*  it  hin,  while,  at  the  same  instant,  Count  SchlemiFs  bugle 
awakened  the  forest  echoes.  With  one  accard,  they  rusHed 
forward,  Hoffman  first;  the  slight  barrier  was  burst  open,  and 
'i.c  breathless  body  of  their  master  met  their  gazo.  No 


THE    JULKXKY    OF    AZIBnH.  275 

violent  mark  could  they  discover;  it  would  have  rather 
appeared  that  his  own  powerful  feelings  and  passions  deprived 
him  of  life,  had  not  his  hand  grasped  his  unsheathed  trusty 
sword,  injured  as  though  by  fire.  Nothing  else  could  they 
discover;  and,  bearing  his  lifeless  frame,  they  mournfully  re- 
traced their  way. 

******  * 

The  wild  tale  soon  reached  the  ears  of  Rosalie.  Let 
those  who  love  fancy  what  she  suffered:  let  those  who  have 
loved  fancy  how  she  died.  Ere  the  fair  of  Frankfort  was  over, 
that  beauteous  maiden  tenanted  the  grave. 

Many  a  bright  eye  was  dimmed  with  a  tear  of  pity,  and 
many  a  manly  breast  marvelled  at  the  relation,  when  the  story 
was  told  of  Count  Roque  Schlemil  and  the  Diamond  Ring. 


THE  JOURNEY  OF  AZIBAH. 

AN    EASTERN    TALE. 

TOWAKDS  the  conclusion  of  the  12th  year  of  the  reign  oi 
Hallam,  monarch  of  Indostan,  Ozmah,  captain  of  the  palace- 
guards,  came  into  the  chamber  of  Azibah,  the  son  of  Heilan, 
near  the  time  of  the  second  prayer,  and  said:  "  Azibah,  son  of 
Hedan.  I  wish  the  command  I  am  going  to  execute,  may 
prove  advantageous  to  thee.  Give  me  thy  sabre,  and  follow 
me  to  the  sultan;  for  such  is  his  pleasure."  The  mordent 
Azibah  heard  these  words,  he  fell  prostrate,  and,  after  implor- 
ing the  protection  of  the  Prophet,  said  to  Ozmah,  "  Put  thy 
hand  upon  my  head;  the  sultan  is  master  of  my  life,  and  I  am 
his  slave!"  At  the  same  time,  he  delivered  up  his  sabre,  and 
followed  him.  At  the  bottom  of  the  stairs,  ten  guards  were 
posted,  who  environed  Azibah,  and  conducted  him  into  the 
presence  of  Hallam. 

This  monarch  had  with  him  only  Serah,  general  of  his 
forces,  and  Naran,  chief  of  the  Itnans.  O/.iuah  presented 
him  Azibah's  sword,  and  said,  "  Light  of  the  faithful,  Azibah, 
without  the  least  resistance,  hath  submitted  himself  to  thy 
orders:  may  thine  enemies  imitate  this  example."  Though 
Azibah  was  not  conscious  of  having  offended  in  anything,  yet 
his  spirits  were  seized  with  terror:  he,  however,  armed  him- 


27u  TALES  or  OT::KI;   DA  vs. 

?elf,  so  as  to  prevent  any  appearance  of  it  in  his  countenance. 
As  soon  as  the  sultan  saw  Azibah  at  Iiis  feet,  he-  said,  "  Sur. .»! 
Heiian,  let  us  fall  down  before  him  that  never  dies!"  These 
words  increased  the  terror  of  Azibah.  The  sultan,  ihe  jrt'ne- 
ral.  the  Iman,  the  captain  of  the  guards,  kneeled  dou  n.  houcd 
their  faces  towards  the  ground,  and  glorified  the  Prophet. 
Azibah,  uncertain  of  his  fate,  thus  implored  the  protection  of 
Mahomet:  "  If  my  resolutions  were  sincere,  when  I  went  to 
pav  honour  to  thy  shrine,  and  to  bedew  with  rny  sweat  the 
holy  Mount  Arafat;  if  I  have  made  it  hitherto  the  chief  delight 
of  my  mind,  and  the  attention  of  mine  eyes,  to  read  over  the 
divine  book,  be  now  my  support.  The  computation  of  my 
days  will  soon,  perhaps,  be  expired.  I  see  already  the  dark 
and  frightful  angel,  ready  to  receive  me.  Remember,  how 
much  faith  I  repose  in  thee:  there  is  but  one  God,  and  thou 
art  his  Prophet." 

The  prayer  being  ended,  the  sultan  rose  up,  and,  turning 
towards  Azibah,  said,  "  Son  of  Hedan,  I  have  resolved  to 
make  thee  undertake  a  lone  voyage;  bow  down  thine  head." 
"  Father  of  Musselmen,"  answered  Azibah,  "  the  voyage  will  be- 
certainly  long,  and  without  return,  which  we  must  all  expect 
to  make  at  different  times.  May  the  most  mighty  and  mercifu. 
God  multiply  thy  years!"  Having  pronounced  these  \\  ords,  he 
stretched  forth  his  neck  to  meet  the  fatal  stroke.  The  sultan 
drew  the  sabre,  and  extended  his  arm;  but  instead  of  severing 
Azibah's  head  from  his  body,  he  returned  the  blade  into  its 
sheath;  which  unexpected  clemency  drew  from  the  assistants 
loud  acclamations  of  joy.  Azibah  again  opened  his  eyes, 
which  darkness,  the  forerunner  of  death,  had  already  closed; 
and  Hallam,  with  a  pleasant  aspect,  embraced  him,  ana, 
having  placed  him  between  Naran  and  Serah,  over  agair.s'. 
his  sofa,  made  sitrns  for  Serah  to  speak  to  him. 

"  My  lord,"  said  Serah, "  I  have  seen,  and  talked,  with  a  man 
who  was  340  years  old,  and  who  had  ten  more  to  live.  I*. 
was  found  oppressed  with  chains,  in  the  King  of  Golcon J^  5 
camp,  after  his  defeat;  and  the  victory  you  obtained  ore. 
that  prince,  gave  thi.s  person  his  liberty.  I  detained  :.m 
three  days,  which  hardly  sufficed  to  relate  the  revolutions  he 
had  seen  during  the  course  of  his  long  life.  1  did  not  t...  ..N, 
proper  to  keep  him  any  longer,  so  1  gave  him  ten  rupees. 
with  his  liberty  to  go  where  he  pleased.  He  was  a  nai.  -c  .. 
Bengal,  and  was  called  the  old  man  of  that  place.  II.&  «,,  .- 
\vere  very  much  sunk  in  his  head,  his  voice  was  clear,  ...j>  ..a./ 
and  beard  very  nicely  combed  out,  and  as  white  as  sno«' 


THE    JOURNEY    OF     AZI15A1I.  277 

Thoug-h  his  visage  was  full  of  wrinkles,  yet  it  was  enlivened 
with  a  fine  fresh  colour,  and  one  might  easily  discover  in  it  a 
gaiety,  that  naturally  accompanies  perfect  health.  Being 
asked,  what  means  he  used  to  attain  so  very  advanced  an 
age,  he  told  me  his  father,  who  was  350  years  old,  had  be- 
queathed him  three  doses  of  the  water  brought  from  the  foun- 
tain in  the  island  of  Borico,  by  virtue  of  which  he  had  been 
thrice  restored  to  his  former  youth.  I  cautiously  desired 
him  to  tell  me  in  what  part  of  the  world  this  island  was,  and 
whether  it  was  permitted  to  fetch  any  of  the  water  contained 
in  this  fountain  of  life.  He  protested,  he  could  not  answer 
either  of  the  questions,  and  that  he  had  even  several  times 
proposed  the  same  demands  to  his  father,  but  could  never  be 
satisfied  in  them.  1  then  pressed  him  very  strenuously  to 
inform  me  by  what  means  his  father  came  by  so  surprising  a 
liquor:  he  always  made  answer,  that  it  was  a  present  made 
him  by  Vichnou,  a  god,  whom  he  had  for  a  long  time  sacri- 
ficed to.  This,  my  lord,  was  all  I  could  gather  from  this 
man.  So  fabulous  a  conclusion  as  that  was,  did  not  a  little 
contribute  to  make  me  despise  him;  for,  after  what  manner 
soever  I  questioned  him,  he  still  persisted  in  the  same  story." 

The  sultan,  perceiving  Serah  had  done  spenking,  looked 
steadfastly  on  Azibah,  and  said  to  him,  "  Son  of  Hedan,  if  the 
vovage  I  seemed  to  threaten  thee  with,  could  not  make  thee 
afraid,  why  shouldest  thou  dread  going  to  the  island  of  Borico 
in  my  service':'"  "  Most  potent  of  kings,"  answered  Azibah,"  I 
fear  none  but  thee  on  earth.  This  instant,  I  range  every 
corner  of  the  world;  and,  if  I  fail  to  bring  thee  the  water  thou 
desirest,  then  sever  my  head  from  my  body,  and  end  the 
life  of  a  creature  no  longer  worthy  of  it."  The  sultan,  having 
charged  all  present  to  conceal  the  secret,  ordered  Naran  to 
provide  everything  necessary  for  the  journey. 

The  next  morning,  as  soon  as  Aurora  had  withdrawn  the 
curtains  of  the  East,  and  painted  the  mountains  tops  with 
glowing  purple,  Azibah  left  the  city  of  Agra,  and  joined  the 
caravan  soing  to  Cambaye.  He  had  no  equipage,  and  his 
dress  was  but  ordinary,  though  he  carried  about  him,  in  gold 
and  jewels,  more  than  the  value  of  a  common  city.  He  gene- 
rally let  the  company  pass  on  before  him,  that  he  might  enjoy 
the  greater  liberty  of  reflecting  on  the  method  of  executing  his 
commission.  He  was  very  pensive,  being  persuaded  there 
was  no  possibility  of  success,  and,  therefore,  looked  upon  his 
expedition  as  a  banishment.  "  I  am  going,"  said  he  to  himself, 
"to  wander,  I  know  not  where,  in  search  of  a  fountain,  which 

B  B 


278  TALES  OF  OTHER  DAYS. 

has,  perhaps,  no  existence.  And,  even  if  it  has,  I  am  entirely 
ignorant  of  the  country  in  which  it  is  situated;  and  am  now, 
perhaps,  travelling  the  direct  opposite  way."  These  discou- 
raging1 thoughts,  however,  at  last  began  to  give  way  to  more 
pleasing  sensations,  and  he  determined  either  to  find  the 
fountain,  or  convince  himself  that  all  search  was  in  vain.  He 
had  not  travelled  three  days  with  his  caravan,  before  he  per- 
ceived he  was  not  the  only  person  who  had  avoided  company 
to  indulge  reflection.  A  young  mail,  well  mounted,  of  a  very 
agreeable  aspect,  seemed  to  be  much  in  the  same  way  of 
thinking  with  himself. 

To  meet  with  companions  in  misfortune,  always,  in  some 
measure,  alleviates  our  grief.  Azibah  was  greatly  pleased  to 
find  an  associate  in  affliction,  and  determined  to  make  him 
acquainted  with  the  nature  of  his  journey;  hoping  he  might 
be  able  either  to  direct  him  in  his  way,  or  confirm  his  sus- 
picions that  there  never  existed  such  a  fountain  in  nature. 
Accordingly,  Azibah  approached  him,  and,  after  a  short  con- 
versation on  general  subjects,  said  to  him,  "  Sir,  I  perceive 
that  your  spirits  are  oppressed  by  the  hand  of  affliction:  mine 
are  also  in  the  same  condition.  Let  us,  therefore,  mutually 
impart  to  each  other  the  causes  from  which  our  afflictions 
flow;  perhaps  each  may  derive  advantage  from  the  counsel  of 
the  other."  To  this  Sebah,  (which  was  the  name  of  the 
young  man,)  readily  consenting,  Azibah  acquainted  him  with 
the  commands  he  had  received  from  the  sultan;  intimating, 
at  the  same  time,  that  he  looked  upon  the  fountain  of  Borico 
as  a  mere  chimera. 

Sebah  listened  with  great  attention  to  Azibah's  relation, 
and,  after  a  few  minutes'  silence,  said,  "  Sir,  I  have  accidentally 
acquired  some  knowledge  of  the  situation  of  that  famous 
fountain,  which  I  shall  gladly  impart  to  you.  I  am  the  son 
of  Rephan,  a  physician,  well  known  in  Sciras;  and  I  need 
not  acquaint  you,  that  all  the  youths  of  that  city  delight  in 
dancing,  and  playing  on  some  instrument.  One  evening,  when 
the  heat  of  the  season  rendered  the  night  more  pleasant  than 
the  day,  I  left  my  father's  house  to  enjoy  the  refreshing 
breeze,  and  played  on  a  flageolet,  as  I  passed  along  the  streets. 
In  my  return  home,  I  heard  the  window  of  a  spacious  house 
open;  and,  directing  mine  eyes  towards  the  place,  I  saw,  by 
means  of  the  light  of  the  moon,  which  was  then  shining  in  her 
greatest  splendour,  a  most  beautiful  lady,  who  seemed  to  listen 
to  my  music  very  attentively.  Pleased  with  the  adventure,  I 
,tood  still,  and  continued  playing,  till  she  withdrew  from  the 


THE    JOURNEY    OF    AZIBAH.  279 

window;  which  was  not  till  some  considerable  time  after  I 
first  saw  her.  I  took  particular  notice  of  the  house,  determin- 
ing to  return  the  succeeding  evening;  but,  just  as  I  reached 
my  father's  house,  an  arrow  passed  whizzing  by  my  ear,  which 
made  me  start.  And,  looking  back,  I  perceived  a  man  mak- 
ing towards  me,  armed  with  a  bow  in  his  left  hand,  and  a  long 
javelin  in  his  right.  As  he  approached  me,  he  cried  out, 
'  Traitor,  though  I  have  missed  thee  once,  I  shall  be  more 
fortunate  a  second  time!'  Seeing  him  alone,  I  took  courage, 
drew  my  sabre,  and,  having  happily  parried  his  thrust,  I  gave 
him  two  wounds  in  the  breast.  He  instantly  dropped,  and 
begged  his  life;  telling  me  he  was  son  to  the  Bashaw  of  Sciras. 
I  immediately  sent  a  surgeon  to  his  assistance;  but,  knowing 
I  had  everything  to  fear  from  the  fury  of  his  father,  I  stayed 
no  longer  in  the  city,  than  to  provide  myself  with  a  horse  and 
money. 

"  I  followed  the  high-road,  till  nature,  overwhelmed  with 
fatigue,  required  repose,  when  I  quitted  it,  taking  a  path  be- 
tween two  mountains,  the  end  of  which  terminated  in  a  wood. 
Then  alighting,  and  tying  my  horse  to  the  branch  of  a  cedar, 
1  laid  myself  down  at  the  foot  of  a  large  wild  palm-tree,  where 
1  slept  till  Aurora  visited  the  earth  with  her  enlivening  beams. 
On  my  waking,  I  was  much  surprised  to  hear  the  voice  of  a 
man  speaking  in  the  following  manner: — 

" '  Now  is  the  precious  hour,  child,  that  the  genii  appear 
under  different  forms,  to  princes  who  delight  in  executing 
justice,  and  to  tyrants  who  deserve  punishment.  Oh,  child! 
couldest  thou,  as  clearly  as  I,  foresee  this  moment,  then 
wouldest  thou  behold  some  employed  in  the  dar.k  shades  of 
Mezanderan,  to  drive  the  lions  and  tigers  from  their  dens,  in 
defence  of  the  innocent  in  oppression,  and  admire  the  facility 
of  others,  in  rendering  the  hydras  and  griffins  tame  and 
familiar.' 

"  I  had  not  patience  any  longer  to  listen  to  so  strange  a  dis- 
course, without  having  a  curiosity  to  see  the  person  that 
delivered  it.  So,  advancing  softly,  from  one  tree  to  another, 
I  came  to  a  pretty  thick  grove  of  laurels,  where,  concealing 
myself,  I  had  the  advantage  of  discovering,  without  being 
perceived,  a  grave  old  man,  dressed  in  a  long  brown  robe,  and 
i  young  maid  sitting  near  him,  in  a  blue  veil,  which  covered 
every  part  of  her,  except  her  face  and  hands.  Her  eyes  were 
modestly  fixed  on  the  old  man,  whom  she  seemed  listening 
10  with  great  attention.  I  showed  myself,  and  by  that  means 
interrupted  their  conversation.  At  my  appearance  the  young 
maid  drew  her  veil  over  her  face,  and  the  old  man  arose  and 


280  TALES  OF  OTHER  DAYS. 

met  me.  '  You  behold,'  said  I,  '  a  traveller  distressed  br 
hunger  and  fatigue,  compelled  to  crave  your  assistance.'  '  By 
AH!'  replied  he,  'thou  art  most  heartily  welcome;  the  sages 
were  never  inhospitable.  The  charity  I  show  you,  will  serve 
as  a  new  instruction  for  my  daughter.  Go,  refresh  yourself  in 
our  retreat;  we  will  join  you  in  an  hour.'  He  showed  me,  at 
the  same  time,  a  little  path,  which  following,  conducted  me, 
after  several  turnings,  into  a  grotto. 

"  Though  the  entrance  was  very  narrow  and  obscure,  yet  it 
was  sufficiently  light  within,  and  contained  several  apartments 
A  slave,  to  whom  I  declared  my  distress,  and  the  charitable 
intentions  of  his  master,  set  before  me  raisins,  pistachios,  fresh 
dates,  white  bread,  and  an  excellent  liquor  from  the  palm- 
tree.  Whilst  I  was  employed  in  satisfying  the  cravings  of 
nature,  I  desired  him  to  go  in  search  of  my  horse,  describing, 
as  well  as  I  could,  the  place  where  I  left  it.  The  slave  accord- 
ingly departed;  and,  after  I  had  eaten  and  drank  sufficiently, 
my  curiosity  prompted  me  to  visit  every  corner  of  so  romantic 
a  habitation.  The  most  remote  cavity  of  the  grotto  formed 
a  cabinet,  rilled  with  books,  talismans,  and  figures  of  all  kinds 
of  plants  and  animals.  Here  I  amused  myself  for  some  time, 
and,  casting  rny  eyes  towards  the  farther  part  of  the  cavity,  I 
saw,  against  the  rock,  the  following  inscription,  in  letters  of 
gold: — '  Reader,  whoever  thou  art,  that  hast  been  favoured 
to  approach  this  secret  recess  of  the  sages,  ponder  this,  and 
be  wise: — Reverence  the  Most  High, seek  wisdom,  love  mercy, 
and  be  a  shield  of  defence  to  the  innocent:  then  shall  thy 
years  be  prolonged,  unassisted  by  the  waters  of  Borico;  nor 
shall  any  plagues  or  misfortunes  approach  thine  habitation.' 
While  I  was  attentively  perusing  this  inscription,  the  old  man 
approached  me,  saying,  '  Son,  let  the  precepts  of  that  writing 
be  engraven,  in  living  characters,  on  the  table  of  thy  memory.' 
I  thanked  him  for  his  kind  advice,  and  desired  him  to  explain 
what  was  meant  by  the  waters' of  Borico.  '  My  son,'  said  he, 
'  in  the  kingdom  of  Sofala,  in  Africa,  is  a  large  lake,  in  the 
midst  of  which  are  several  islands,  and,  particularly,  one  much 
larger  than  the  rest,  called  Borico.  In  this  island  is  a  foun- 
tain, whose  water  is  endued  with  the  most  amazing  property 
of  restoring  youth  to  those  who  drink  of  it.  On  the  borders 
of  this  fountain  grow  many  beautiful  trees,  which  fill  the  air 
with  a  delightful  fragrance,  and  are  always  loaded  with  the 
most  delicious  fruits.  But  the  passage  to  this  fountain  is  guarded 
by  leopards;  so  that  it  is  almost  impossible  to  approach  it.' 

"The  old  man  having  finished  his  explanation  of  this  mystery., 
after  returning  him  my  thanks  for  his  kindness  and  hospitality, 


THE    JOURNEY    OF    AZIBAII.  2al 

I  took  my  leave  of  him,  mounted  my  horse,  which  the  slave 
had  brought  to  the  entrance  of  the  grotto,  and,  after  wander- 
ing a  long1  time  through  unknown  parts,  I  had  the  good  for- 
tune to  join  this  caravan,  and  find  in  it  a  companion  in  mis- 
fortune." 

Azibah  listened  with  the  utmost  attention  to  Seba's  narra- 
tive, being1  agreeably  surprised  at  so  unexpected  a  discovery, 
and  determined  to  direct  his  course  to  Africa,  in  search  of 
the  fountain  of  Borico. 

On  their  arrival  at  Cambaye,  Seba  was  informed  that  the 
Bashaw's  son  was  not  only  recovered  from  his  wounds,  but 
also  become  his  friend.  On  hearing  this  agreeable  news,  Seba 
set  out  on  his  return  to  Sciras,  arid  Azibah,  having  procured 
a  ship,  sailed  for  the  coast  of  Africa.  After  a  long  and  tedious 
search  through  uninhabited  deserts,  he  had  the  good  fortune 
to  discover  the  lake,  in  the  midst  of  which  the  island  o(  Borico 
was  situated.  Being  arrived  at  the  side  of  the  lake,  he  pre- 
vailed on  some  fishermen  to  carry  him  to  the  island.  They  did 
all  in  their  power  to  dissuade  him  from  such  a  rash  attempt, 
by  assuring  him  that  it  was  only  inhabited  by  wild  beasts, 
from  which  it  would  be  impossible  for  him  to  escape.  These 
reasons  were  lost  on  Azibah;  he  persisted  in  his  resolution; 
and  the  fishermen,  finding  it  in  vain  to  oppose  him,  landed 
him  on  the  island. 

He  wandered  over  a  great  part  of  the  island,  seeking  in 
vain  the  salutiferous  fountain;  and,  despairing  of  success,  set 
himself  down  in  a  valley  and  fell  asleep.  When  he  awoke 
he  beheld  a  beautiful  lady,  dressed  in  the  habit  of  the  country, 
approaching  him;  who,  with  a  great  deal  of  sweetness,  asked 
him  what  he  sought.  He  acquainted  her  with  the  commands 
of  the  sultan,  and  the  reasons  which  induced  him  to  come 
thither  in  search  of  the  fountain.  "  Since  you  apply  to  me," 
answered  she,  "  it  will  be  your  own  fault  if  you  do  not  suc- 
ceed. As  you  go  out  of  this  valley,  you  will  find  a  crystal 
stream  flowing  from  a  beautiful  fountain,  and  discharging 
itself  into  a  large  river  not  far  distant  from  its  source.  At  the 
bottom  of  the  fountain  you  will  find  a  little  blue  pebble,  which 
you  must  not  fail  to  take  up;  then  follow  the  stream,  till  you 
arrive  at  the  river,  and  direct  your  course  along  the  bank  of 
the  river,  till  it  divides  itself  into  two  branches,  and  forms  an 
island,  or  rather  garden,  in  the  middle  of  which  is  the  salu- 
tiferous fountain.  Over  the  arm  of  the  river  next  to  us,  there 
is  a  fine  marble  bridge,  whose  pas  jage  is  defended  by  twenty- 
seven  leopards.  Before  you  come  in  sight  of  them,  put  tne 
B  B  2 


282  TALES    OP    O7HER    DAYS. 

little  blue  pebble  in  your  month,  and  pass  boldly  over  the 
bridge,  for  the  pebble  will  render  you  invisible.  When  you 
approach  the  fountain,  take  up  what  water  you  intend,  and 
return  immediately.  But  be  careful  not  to  eat  of  the  fruits  of 
the  luxuriant  trees  growing  on  the  margin  of  the  fountain." 
The  lady,  after  uttering:  these  words,  disappeared;  and  Azibah 
took  the  path  she  directed. 

The  fountain,  the  pebble,  the  river,  the  bridge,  and  the 
leopards,  presented  themselves  successively  to  his  view.  As 
he  entered  the  garden,  he  was  saluted  with  an  odour  inex- 
pressibly ravishing,  proceeding  from  the  flowers  and  frt-.its, 
which  it  produced  in  the  greatest  profusion.  Near  the  margin 
of  the  salutit'erous  fountain  was  a  tree  eminently  taller  than 
the  rest,  loaded  with  fruit  of  so  enchanting  an  aspect,  that 
even  imagination  itself  can  hardly  paint  anything  so  beautiful. 
Azibah,  unable  to  withstand  the  temptation,  IOOK  the  peuble 
otit  of  his  mouth,  plucked  off  the  fruit  and  began  to  eat.  The 
taste  was  delicious  and  enchanting;  but  alas!  the  pleasure 
was  but  of  short  duration.  The  leopards  now  cast  their 
furious  eyes  upon  him,  made  towards  him  with  incredible 
swiftness,  and  were  just  on  the  point  of  tearing  him  to  pieces, 
when  the  lady,  who  had  before  directed  him,  suddenly 
appeared.  At  her  presence  these  fierce  creatures  returned 
to  their  station,  and  Azibah  prostrated  himself  kt  her  feet, 
endeavouring  to  express  his  repentance  and  gratitude.  "  You 
are  now,"  said  she,  "  lost  to  all  hopes  of  success;  acknowledge 
your  fault,  and  spend  the  remainder  of  life  in  solitude."  Hav- 
ing said  this,  she  took  him  by  the  hand,  and,  after  conduct- 
ing him  beyond  the  bridge,  charged  him  to  return  the  same  way 
that  he  came,  and  to  put  the  pebble  in  its  place,  as  he  passed, 
by  the  fountain;  which  he  had  no  sooner  done,  than  the  whole 
vanished  from  his  sight;  neither  bridge,  river,  nor  fountain 
were  any  longer  visible;  and,  to  add  to  his  astonishment,  he 
found  himself  on  the  top  of  the  mountain  of  Arafat. 

Thus  was  the  unfortunate  Azibah,  through  his  own  folly, 
disappointed,  when  he  thought  the  object  he  had  pursued 
through  so  many  difficulties  within  his  reach.  And  hence 
we  should  learn  to  govern  our  passions  and  appetites;  for,  if 
we  suffer  them  to  prevail,  all  our  resolution,  assiduity,  anc 
perseverance,  in  any  undertaking,  will  be  rendered  abortive. 
Health,  honour,  and  reputation  will  be  sacrificed  to  the  gratifi- 
cation of  some  mean  and  unworthy  passion;  and,  like  Azibah, 
tor  the  momentary  pleasure  of  tasting  one  delicious  morsel, 
ose  the  salutiferous  waters  of  Borico. 


283 


iHi  DZ  AIM'S  HEAD. 

"  What  guilt 

Cut  equal  violations  of  the  dead? 
The  dead,  how  sacred!" 

YOUNG'S  Night  Thottfltlt. 

1MB  heavtv  of  the  evening-,  which  succeeded  to  a  very  sultry 
nav.  'empted  Colonel  Kielholm  to  sit,  surrounded  by  his  little 
ranr.lv.  on  the  stone  bench  placed  before  the  door  of  the 
noble  mansion  he  had  recently  purchased.  In  order  to  he- 
C')-ne  acquainted  by  decrees  with  hb  new  tenants,  he  took 
I/leisure  in  questioning:,  on  their  occupations  and  conditions, 
the  greater  part  of  those  who  passed  by:  he  alleviated  their 
little  sufferings  by  his  advice  as  well  as  by  his  bounty.  His 
family  enjoyed  particular  pleasure  in  seeing  the  little  inn 
situated  in  front  of  the  chateau,  which,  instead  of  presenting 
a  disgusting  object,  as  when  the  late  owner  lived  there, 
l>ecanie,  each  succeeding' day,  better  and  more  orderlv.  Their 
pleasure  was  heightened  from  the  circumstance  that  the 
new  landlord,  who  had  been  many  years  a  servant,  in  the 
family,  was  loud  in  his  praises  of  its  amended  condition,  and 
delighted  himself  in  his  new  calling,  with  the  idea  of  the 
happy  prospects  it  held  forth  to  himself,  his  wife,  and 
children. 

Formerly,  though  the  road  was  greatly  frequented,  nobody 
ventured  to  pass  a  night  at  this  inn;  but  now,  each  day,  there 
was  a  succession  of  travellers;  carriages  were  constantly  seen 
at  the  door,  or  in  the  court-yard;  and  the  air  of  general 
satisfaction  of  each  party,  as  they  proceeded  on  their  route, 
incontestably  proved  to  the  landlord,  (who  always,  hat  in 
hand,  was  at  the  door  of  their  carriages  as  they  drove  off',) 
that  his  efforts  to  please  the  various  travellers  were  com- 
pletely successful. 

A  moving  scene  of  this  nature  had  just  disappeared,  which 
furnished  conversation  for  the  moment,  when  a  whimsical 
equipage,  which  arrived  from  another  quarter,  attracted  the 
attention  of  the  colonel  and  his  family.  A  long  carriage, 
loaded  with  trunks  and  all  sorts  of  luggage,  and  drawn  by  two 
horses,  whose  form  and  colour  presented  the  most  srrotesqne 
contrast  imaginable,  but  which,  in  point  of  tneagreness,  were 
an  excellent  match,  was  succeeded  by  a  second  long  and 
14 


284  TALES    OF    OTHER    DAY". 

large  vehicle,  which  they  had,  most  probably,  at  the  expense 
of  the  adjacent  forest,  converted  into  a  travelling  thicket. 
The  four  steeds  which  drew  it  did  not  in  any  respect  make  a 
better  appearance  than  the  two  preceding.  But  the  colonel 
and  his  family  were  still  more  struck  by  the  individuals  who 
filled  this  second  carriage:  it  was  a  strange  medley  of  child- 
ren and  grown  persons,  closely  wedged  together;  but  not  one 
of  their  countenances  bore  the  slightest  mark  of  similarity  of 
ideas.  Discontent,  aversion,  and  hatred,  were  legible  in  the 
face  of  each  of  these  sunburnt  strangers.  It  was  not  a  family, 
but  a  collection  of  individuals,  which  fear  or  necessity  kept 
together,  without  uniting. 

The  colonel's  penetrating  eye  led  him  to  discover  thus 
much,  though  the  distance  was  considerable.  He,  at  length, 
saw  descend  from  the  back  part  of  the  carriage,  a  man  of 
better  appearance  than  the  others.  At  something  which  he 
said,  the  whole  troop  turned  their  eyes  towards  the  inn;  they 
assumed  an  air  of  greater  content,  and  appeared  a  little  better 
satisfied. 

The  first  carriage  had  already  stopped  at  the  door  of  the 
inn,  while  the  second  was  passing  the  chateau;  and  the 
extremely  humble  salutations  from  the  passengers  in  the 
latter,  seemed  to  claim  the  good-will  of  the  colonel  and  his 
family. 

The  second  carriage  had  scarcely  stopped,  ere  the  troop 
were  out  of  it,  each  appearing  anxious  to  quit  those  next  to 
whom  they  had  been  sitting,  with  all  possible  speed.  The 
spruce  and  agile  manner  in  which  they  leaped  out  of  the 
vehicle,  left  no  doubt  on  the  mind  what  their  profession  was — 
they  could  be  none  other  than  rope-dancers. 

The  colonel  remarked,  that  "  notwithstanding  the  humble 
salutations  they  had  made,  he  did  not  think  they  would 
exhibit  in  these  parts;  but,  according  to  appearances,  they 
would  proceed  to  the  capital  with  all  possible  despatch;  as  it 
was  hardly  to  be  expected  that  they  would  be  delayed  a 
single  day,  by  the  very  trivial  profit  to  be  expected  from  ex- 
hibiting in  a  mere  country  village. 

"  We  have,"  said  he,  "seen  the  worst  side  of  these  gentry, 
without  the  probability  of  ascertaining  whether  they  have 
anything  to  recommend  them  to  our  notice." 

His  wife  was  on  the  point  of  expressing  her  dislike  to  all 
those  tricks  which  endanger  the  neck,  when  the  person  whom 
they  had  observed  as  being  superior  to  the  rest,  advanced 
towards  them,  and,  atler  making  a  low  bow,  asked  permission 


THE   DEATH'S  HEAD.  285 

to  remain  there  a  few  days.  The  colonel  was  unable  t.o 
refuse  this  request,  as  he  showed  them  a  passport  properly 
signed. 

"  1  beg  you,"  replied  the  colonel,  to  declare  most  positively 
to  your  company,  that  every  equivocal  action  is  punished  in 
my  villages;  as  I  am  anxious  to  avoid  all  possibility  of 
quarrels." 

"  Do  not  in  the  least  alarm  yourself,  monsieur;  an  ex- 
tremely severe  discipline  is  kept  up  in  my  troop,  which  has  in 
some  respects  the  effect  of  a  secret  police  amons:  ourselves: 
all  can  answer  for  one,  and  one  can  answer  for  all.  Kach  is 
bound  to  communicate  any  misconduct  on  the  part  of  another 
to  me,  and  is  always  rewarded  for  such  communication;  but, 
on  the  contrary,  if  he  omits  so  to  do,  he  is  severely  punished." 

The  colonel's  lady  could  not  conceal  her  aversion  to  such 
a  barbarous  regulation;  which  the  stranger  perceiving,  shrug- 
ged his  shoulders. 

"  We  must  all  accommodate  our  ideas  to  our  condition.  I 
have  found,  that  if  persons  of  this  stamp  are  not  so  treated, 
there  is  no  possibility  of  governing  them.  And  you  may  the 
more  confidently  rely  on  my  vigilance,  as  I  had  the  happiness 
of  being  born  in  this  place,  and,  in  consequence,  feel  a  double 
obligation;  first,  to  the  place  of  my  birth;  secondly,  to  his 
worship." 

"  Were  you  born  here  ?"  demanded  the  colonel's  wife,  with 
surprise. 

"  Yes,  my  lady;  my  father  was  Schurster,  the  schoolmaster, 
who  died  lately.  But  I  call  myself  Calzolaro,  finding  that  my 
profession  succeeds  better  under  an  Italian,  than  a  German 
naino  " 

This  explanation  redoubled  the  interest  the  colonel  and  his 
lady  already  felt  for  this  man,  who  appeared  to  have  received 
a  tolerable  education.  They  knew  that  the  schoolmaster, 
whose  profession  had  been  pretty  lucrative,  owing  to  the  nu- 
merous population  of  the  village,  had  died  worth  some  con- 
siderable property;  but,  that  he  had  named  a  distant  female 
relation  as  his  sole  heiress,  leaving  his  only  son  an  ex- 
tremely scanty  pittance. 

"  My  father,"  continued  Calzolaro,  "  did  not  behave  to  me 
as  he  ought:  and  I  cannot  but  think  I  should  be  justified  in 
availing  myself  of  some  important  informalities  in  his  will, 
and  endeavouring  to  set  it  aside,  which  is  my  present  inten- 
tion. But  excuse,  I  pray  you,  my  having  tired  your  patience 
with  relations  to  which  the  conversation  has  involuntarily  given 


286'  TALES    OF     OTHER     U.ii     . 

rise.  I  have  still  one  more  request  to  make:  permit  me  to 
j-eturn  you  my  best  thanks  for  your  gracious  condescension, 
and  to  show  you  some  of  the  exercises  I'or  which  my  troop  is 
famous." 

The  colonel  acceded  to  Calzolaro's  request,  and  a  day  was 
fixed  for  the  performance. 

Calzolaro  went  that  very  evening  to  the  village  pastor,  and 
communicated  to  him  his  intentions  relative  to  his  father's 
will.  The  worthy  minister  condemned  such  a  procedure,  and 
endeavoured  to  convince  Calzolaro  that  his  father's  anger 
was  just.  "Picture  to  yourself,  young  man,"  said  he,  "a 
father  who  has  grown  old*  in  an  honest  profession,  and  who 
rejoices  in  having  a  son  to  whom  he  can  leave  it:  added  to 
which,  this  son  has  great  talents,  a  good  understanding,  and 
is  well  disposed.  It  was  natural,  that  the  father  should  use 
every  possible  exertion,  to  obtain  for  this  son  his  own  nitu- 
ation  at  his  death.  The  son  is,  in  truth,  nominated  to  succeed 
him.  The  father,  thinking  himself  secure  from  misfortune, 
feels  quite  happy.  It  was  at  this  period  that  the  son,  en- 
ticed by  hair-brained  companions,  gave  up  a  certain  and  re- 
spectable, though  not  very  brilliant  provision.  My  dear 
Schurster,  if,  when  shaking  off  the  salutary  yoke,  and  quittin? 
vour  venerable  father,  to  ramble  over  the  world,  you  could 
lightly  forget  the  misery  it  would  occasion  him,  you  ought  at 
least,  in  the  present  instance,  to  behave  differently;  or,  in 
plain  terms,  i  shall  say  you  are  a  good-for-nothing  fellow. 
Did  not  your  father,  even  after  this,  do  all  he  could  to 
reclaim  you?  but  you  were  deaf  to  his  remonstrances." 

"  Because  the  connexion  which  I  had  formed  imposed 
obligations  on  me,  from  which  1  could  not  free  myself,  as 
from  a  garment  of  which  one  is  tired.  For,  had  I  then  been 
my  own  master,  as  I  now  am" 

"  Here  let  us  stop,  if  you  please:  I  have  only  one  request 
to  make  of  you.  You  ought,  from  respect  to  vour  father's 
memory,  not  to  dispute  his  will." 

This  conversation,  and  the  venerable  air  of  the  pastor,  had 
a  little  shaken  Calzolaro's  resolutions;  but  the  next  day,  they 
returned  with  double  force;  for  he  heard  several  persons  say, 
that  shortly  before  his  death,  his  father  was  heard  to  speak  of 
him  with  great  bitterness. 

This  discourse  rendered  him  so  indignant,  that  he  would 
not  even  accede  to  a  proposal  of  accommodation  with  the 
heiress,  ma^le  to  him  by  the  pastor. 

The  colonel  tried  equally,  but  without  success,  to  become  a 


THE   DEATH'S   HEAD.  287 

mediator,  and  at  length  determined  to  let  the  matter  take  its 
course. 

He,  however,  assisted  at  the  rehearsals  made  by  the  troop; 
and  took  so  much  pleasure  in  the  performances  prepared  for 
tho  amusement  of  himself  and  his  family  by  Calzolaro,  that  he 
engaged  him  to  act  again,  and  invited  several  of  his  neigh- 
bours to  witness  them. 

Calzolaro  said  to  him  on  this  occasion:  "  You  have,  as  yet, 
seen  very  trifling  proofs  of  our  abilities.  But  do  not  fancy 
that  I  am  an  idle  spectator,  and  merely  stand  by  tc  criticise; 
I,  as  well  as  each  individual  of  my  troop,  have  a  spnere  of 
action;  and  I  reserve  myself  to  give  you,  before  we  take  our 
leave,  some  entertaining  experiments  in  electricity  and  mag- 
netism." 

The  colonel  then  told  him,  that  lie  had  recently  seen,  in 
the  capital,  a  man  who  had  exhibited  experiments  of  that 
sort,  which  had  greatly  delighted  him;  and, above  all,  he  had 
been  singularly  astonished  by  his  powers  of  ventriloquism. 

"  It  is  precisely  in  that  particular  point,"  replied  Calzolaro, 
"  that  I  think  myself  equal  to  any  one,  be  they  whom  they 
may." 

"  I  am  very  srlad  of  it,"  answered  the  colonel.  "  But,  what 
would  produce  the  most  astonishing  effect  on  those  who  have 
never  heard  a  ventriloquist,  would  be  a  dialogue  between  the 
actor  and  a  death's  head:  the  man  of  whom  1  made  mention, 
gave  us  one." 

"  If  you  command  it,  I  can  undertake  it." 

"  Delightful !"  exclaimed  the  colonel.  And  Calzolaro 
having  given  some  unequivocal  proofs  of  his  powers  as  a  ven- 
triloquist, the  colonel  added:  "  The  horror  of  the  scene  must 
be  augmented  by  every  possible  means:  for  instance,  we  must 
hang  the  room  with  black;  the  lights  must  be  extinguished; 
we  must  fix  on  midnight.  It  will  be  a  species  of  phantasma- 
goria dessert  after  supper;  an  unexpected  spectacle.  We 
must  contrive  to  throw  the  audience  into  a  cold  perspiration, 
in  order  that  when  the  explanation  takes  place,  they  may 
have  ample  reason  to  laugh  at  their  fears.  For,  if  all 
succeeds,  no  one  will  be  exempt  from  a  certain  degree  of 
terror." 

Ciilzolaro  entered  into  the  project,  and  promised  that 
nothing  should  be  neglected  to  make  it  successful.  They 
unfurnished  a  closet,  and  huny  ii  with  black. 

The  col.mel's  wife  was  the  only  one  admitted  to  their  con- 
fidence, as  they  could  rely  0:1  her  discretion.  Her  husband 


2S8  TALES  OF  OTHER  DAYS. 

had  even  a  little  altercation  on  the  subject  with  her.  Sbo 
wished  that,  for  the  ventriloquist  scene,  they  should  use  the 
model  of  a  head  in  plaster,  which  her  son  used  to  draw  fiom; 
whereas,  the  colonel  maintained  that  they  must  have  a  real  skull- 
"  otherwise,"  said  he,  "  the  spectators'  illusion  will  speedily 
be  at  end;  but,  after  they  have  heard  the  death's  head  speak, 
we  will  cause  it  to  be  handed  round,  in  order  to  convince 
them  that  it  is  in  truth  but  a  skull." 

"  And  where  can  we  procure  this  skull  ?"  asked  the 
colonel's  wife. 

"  The  sexton  will  undertake  to  provide  us  with  it." 

"  And  whose  corpse  will  you  thus  disturb,  for  a  frivolous 
amusement?" 

"  How  sentimental  you  are !"  replied  Kielholm,  who  did 
not  consider  the  subject  in  so  serious  a  light:  "  we  may 
easily  see  you  are  not  accustomed  to  the  field  of  battle,  where 
no  further  respect  is  paid  to  the  repose  of  the  dead,  than  suiis 
the  convenience  of  the  labourer  in  the  fields  where  they  are 
buried." 

"  God  preserve  me  from  such  a  spectacle!"  exclaimed  the 
colonel's  lady,  in  quitting  him,  when  she  perceived  her  hus- 
band was  insensible  to  her  representations. 

According  to  the  orders  which  he  received,  the  sexton  one 
night  brought  a  skull  in  good  preservation. 

The  morning  of  the  day  destined  for  the  representation, 
Calzolaro  went  into  the  adjacent  forest  to  rehearse  the 
dialogue  which  he  was  to  have  with  the  death's  head.  He 
considered  in  what  way  to  place  the  head,  so  as  to  avoid  all 
suspicion  of  the  answers  given  by  it  being  uttered  by  a  person 
concealed.  In  the  meanwhile,  the  pastor  arrived  at  the  spot 
from  a  neighbouring  hamlet,  where  he  had  been  called  to 
attend  a  dying  person;  and,  believing  that  the  interposition 
of  Providence  was  visible  in  this  accidental  meeting,  the  good 
man  stopped,  in  order  once  again  to  exhort  Calzolaro  to 
agree  to  an  accommodation  with  the  heiress. 

"  I  yesterday,"  said  he,  "  received  a  letter  from  her,  in 
which  she  declares  that,  rather  than  any  disrespect  should  be 
paid  to  your  father's  last  will  and  testament,  she  will  give  up 
to  you  half  the  inheritance  to  which  she  is  thereby  entitled. 
Ought  you  not  to  prefer  this  to  a  process  at  law,  the  issue  of 
which  is  doubtful,  and  which,  at  all  events,  will  never  do  you 
credit  ?" 

Calzolaro  persisted  in  declaring  that  the  law  should  decide 
between  him  and  the  testator.  The  poor  young  man  was 


THE  DEATH'S  HEAD.  289 

not  in  a  state  to  see,  in  a  proper  point  of  view,  his  father's  con- 
duct towards  him.  The  pastor,  finding  all  his  representa- 
tions and  entreaties  fruitless,  left  him.  Calzolaro  proceeded 
slowly  to  the  inn,  to  assign  to  each  of  his  band  their  parti- 
cular part.  He  told  them,  that  he  should  not  be  with  them; 
but,  notwithstanding,  he  should  have  an  eye  over  their  con- 
duct. He  was  not  willing  to  appear  as  the  manager  of  these 
mountebanks,  to  the  party  assembled  at  the  colonel's,  thinking, 
that  if  he  appeared  tor  the  first  time  in  the  midnight  scene,  as 
an  entire  stranger,  it  would  add  still  more  to  the  marvellous. 

The  tumblers'  tricks  and  rope-dancing  were  performed  to 
admiration.  And  those  of  the  spectators,  whose  constant 
residence  in  the  country  prevented  their  having  witnessed 
similar  feats,  were  the  most  inclined  to  admire  and  praise  the 
agility  of  the  troop.  The  little  children  in  particular  were 
applauded.  The  compassion  excited  by  their  unhappy 
destiny,  mingled  with  the  approbation  bestowed  on  them; 
and  the  ladies  were  subjects  of  envy,  in  giving  birth  to  the 
satisfaction  depicted  in  the  countenances  of  these  little 
wretches,  by  their  liberal  donations. 

The  agility  of  the  troop  formed  the  subject  of  general  con- 
versation the  whole  afternoon.  They  were  even  speaking  in 
their  praise  after  supper,  when  the  master  of  the  house  said 
to  the  company  assembled: — 

"  I  am  rejoiced,  my  dear  friends,  to  see  the  pleasure  you 
have  received  from  the  little  spectacle  that  I  have  been 
enabled  to  give  you.  My  joy  is  so  much  the  greater,  since  I 
find  you  doubting  the  possibility  of  things  which  are  very 
natural;  for,  1  have  it  in  my  power  to  submit,  for  your  exa- 
mination, something  of  a  very  incomprehensible  nature.  At 
this  very  moment,  I  have  in  my  house  a  person  who  enter- 
tains a  most  singular  intercourse  with  the  world  of  spirits, 
and  who  can  compel  the  dead  to  answer  his  questions." 

"  O !"  exclaimed  a  lady,  smiling,  "  don't  terrify  us." 

"  You  jest  now,"  replied  the  colonel;  "  but  I  venture  to 
affirm,  your  mirth  will  be  a  little  changed  when  the  scene 
takes  place." 

"  1  accept  the  challenge,"  answered  the  incredulous  fair 
one.  All  the  party  was  of  her  opinion,  and  declared  them- 
selves so  openly  and  so  loudly  against  the  truth  of  these 
terrific  scenes,  that  the  colonel  began  to  be  really  apprehen- 
sive for  the  effects  likely  to  be  produced  by  those  he  had 
prepared.  He  would  have  even  relinquished  his  project,  if 
his  guests,  one  and  all,  had  not  entreated  him  to  the  contrary. 
c  c 


290  TALES  OF  OTHER  DAYS 

They  even  went  further:  they  besought  him  not  long  to 
delay  the  wonderful  things  he  promised.  But  the  colonel, 
keeping  his  own  counsel,  feigned  ignorance  that  they  were 
laughing  at  him;  and,  with  a  grave  air,  declared  that  the  ex- 
periment could  not  take  place  till  midnight. 

The  clock  at  length  struck  twelve.  The  colonel  gave  his 
servants  orders  to  place  chairs  facing  the  door  of  a  closet 
which  had  been  hitherto  kept  shut;  he  invited  the  company 
to  sit  down,  and  gave  orders  for  all  the  lights  to  be  put  out. 
While  these  preparations  were  making,  he  thus  addressed  the 
company: — 

"  I  entreat  you,  my  friends,  to  abstain  from  all  idle  curiosity.*' 
The  grave  and  solemn  tone  in  which  he  uttered  these  words, 
made  a  deep  impression  on  the  party,  whose  incredulity  was 
not  a  little  lessened  by  the  striking  of  the  clock,  and  the 
putting  out  the  lights,  one  after  the  other.  Presently,  they 
heard  from  the  closet  facing  them,  the  hoarse  and  singular 
sounds  by  which  it  is  preiended  spirits  are  conjured  up,  and 
which  were  interrupted,  at  intervals,  by  loud  strokes  of  a 
hammer.  All  on  a  sudden,  the  door  of  the  closet  opened; 
and  as,  by  slow  degrees,  the  cloud  of  incense  which  tilled  it 
evaporated,  they  gradually  discovered  the  black  trappings 
with  which  it  was  hung,  and  an  altar  in  the  middle,  also  hung 
with  black  drapery.  On  this  altar  was  placed  a  skuli,  which 
cast  its  terrifying  regards  on  all  the  company  present. 

Meanwhile,  the  spectators'  breathing  became  more  audible 
and  difficult,  and  their  embarrassment  increased  in  proportion 
as  the  vapour  gave  place  to  a  brilliant  light  issuing  from  an 
alabaster  lamp  suspended  from  the  ceiling.  Many  of  them, 
indeed,  turned  their  heads  away  in  alarm,  on  hearing  a  noise 
behind  them;  which,  however,  they  discovered  simply  pro- 
ceeded from  some  of  the  servants,  whom  the  colonel  had 
given  permission  to  be  present  during  the  exhibition,  at  a 
respectful  distance. 

After  a  moment  of  profound  silence,  Calzolaro  entered.  A 
long  beard  had  so  effectually  altered  his  youthful  appearance, 
that  though  several  of  the  spectators  had  previously  seen 
him,  they  could  not  possibly  recognize  him  under  this  disguise. 
And  his  Oriental  costume  added  so  much  to  the  deceit,  that 
his  entrance  had  an  excellent  effect. 

In  order  that  his  art  should  impose  the  more,  the  colonel 
recommended  to  him  a  degree  of  haughtiness  in  addressing 
the  company;  and  that  he  should  not  salute  them  according 
to  any  prescribed  forms  of  politeness,  but  to  announce  him- 


THE  DEATH'S  HEAD.  291 

self  in  terms  foreign  from  all  ordinary  modes  of  conversation. 
They  both  agreed  that  a  mysterious  jargon  would  best 
answer  their  purpose. 

In  consequence  of  such  determination,  Calzolaro,  assuming 
a  deep  sepulchral  tone,  thus  began: — "  After  our  present 
state  of  existence,  we  are  swallowed  up  in  the  obscure  abyss 
which  we  call  death,  in  order  that  we  may  become  incorporated 
in  an  entirely  new  and  peaceful  state.  It  is  in  order  to 
emancipate  the  soul  from  this  state,  that  the  sublime  arts  are 
exercised,  and  to  create,  among  fools  and  weak  persons,  the 
idea  of  its  being  impossible !  The  wise  and  learned  pity 
them  for  their  ignorance,  in  not  knowing  what  is  possible  and 
impossible,  true  or  false,  light  or  dark;  because  they  do  not 
know,  and  cannot  comprehend,  the  exalted  spirits  who,  from 
the  silence  of  the  vault  and  the  grave,  from  the  mouldering 
bones  of  the  dead,  speak  to  the  living  in  a  voice  no  less  for- 
midable than  true.  As  to  you,  who  are  now  here  assembled, 
listen  to  a  word  of  advice.  Avoid  provoking,  by  any  indiscreet 
question,  the  vengeance  of  the  spirit  who,  at  my  command, 
will  be  invisibly  stationed  beneath  this  human  skull.  Endea- 
vour to  moderate  your  fear;  listen  to  everything  with  calm- 
ness and  submission;  for  I  take  under  my  especial  care  all 
those  who  are  obedient,  and  only  leave  the  guilty  as  a  prey 
to  the  destruction  they  merit." 

The  colonel  remarked,  with  secret  satisfaction,  the  impres- 
sion produced  on  the  company,  hitherto  'so  incredulous,  by 
this  pompous  harangue. 

"  Every  thing  succeeds  better  than  I  could  have  hoped,"  said 
he,  in  an  under  tone,  to  his  wife,  who  was  not  at  all  amused 
by  the  performance,  and  who  was  only  present  to  please  her 
husband. 

Meanwhile  Calzolaro  continued: — "  Look  on  this  pitiful 
and  neglected  head:  my  magic  art  has  removed  the  bolts  of 
the  tomb  to  which  it  was  consigned,  and  in  which  reposes  a 
long  line  of  princes.  The  owner  of  it  is  now  actually  there, 
rendering  up  to  the  spirits  an  exact  account  of  the  life  he  had 
led.  Don't  be  alarmed,  even  though  it  should  burst  forth  in 
terrible  menaces  against  you:  and  against  me  his  impotency 
will  be  manifest,  as,  spite  of  his  former  grandeur,  he  cannot 
resist  the  power  I  have  over  him,  provided  no  culpable  preci- 
pitation on  your  part  interrupt  the  solemnity  of  my  questions." 

He  then  opened  a  door  of  the  closet,  hitherto  concealed 
from  the  company,  brought  a  chating-dish  filled  with  red-hot 
coals,  threw  thereon  some  incense,  and  walked  three  times 


292  TALES  OF  OTHER  DAYS. 

round  the  altar,  pronouncing  at  each  circle  a  spell.  He  then 
drew  from  its  scabbard  a  sword  which  hung  in  his  girdle, 
plunged  it  in  the  smoke  issuing  from 'the  incense,  and,  making 
frightful  contortions  of  his  face  and  limbs,  pretended  to  en- 
deavour to  cleave  the  head,  which,  however,  he  did  not 
touch.  At  last,  he  took  the  head  up  on  the  point  of  his 
sword,  held  it  up  in  the  air  before  him,  and  advanced  towards 
the  spectators,  a  little  moved. 

"  Who  art  thou,  miserable  dust,  that  I  hold  at  the  point  of 
my  sword?"  demanded  Calzolaro,  with  a  confident  air  and 
JL  firm  voice.  But  scarcely  had  he  uttered  this  question, 
when  he  turned  pale;  his  arm  trembled;  his  knees  shook; 
his  haggard  eyes,  which  were  fixed  on  the  head,  were  horror- 
struck;  he  had  hardly  strength  sufficient  to  place  the  head 
and  the  sword  on  the  altar,  ere  he  suddenly  fell  on  the  floor, 
with  every  symptom  of  extreme  terror. 

The  spectators,  frightened  out  of  then  *its,  looked  at  the 
master  of  the  house,  who  in  his  turn  looked  at  them.  No 
one  seemed  to  know  whether  this  was  to  be  considered  part 
of  the  scene,  nor  whether  it  -was  possible  to  explain  it.  The 
curiosity  of  the  audience  was  raised  to  its  utmost  pitch:  they 
waited  still  a  considerable  time,  but  no  explanation  took 
place.  At  length,  Calzolaro,  half-raising  himself,  asked  if 
his  father's  shadow  had  disappeared. 

Stupefaction  succeeded  astonishment.  The  colonel  was 
anxious  to  know  whether  he  was  still  attempting  to  impose 
on  the  company,  by  a  pretended  dialogue  with  the  death's 
head? 

Calzolaro  answered  that  he  would  do  anything,  and  that  he 
would  willingly  submit  to  any  punishment  they  chose  to 
inflict  on  him  for  his  frightful  crime;  hut  he  entreated  they 
would  instantly  carry  back  the  head  to  its  place  of  repose. 

His  countenance  had  undergone  a  complete  change,  and 
only  resumed  its  wonted  appearance  on  the  colonel's  wife 
acquiescing  in  his  wish:  she  ordered  the  head  to  be  instantly 
conveyed  to  the  churchyard,  and  to  be  replaced  in  the  grave. 

During  this  unexpected  denouement,  every  eye  was  turned 
on  Calzolaro;  he,  who  not  long  ago  was  talking  with  so  much 
emphasis,  and  in  such  a  lofty  strain,  could  now  scarcely  draw 
his  breath;  and,  from  time  to  time,  threw  supplicating  looks 
on  the  spectators,  as  if  entreating  them  to  wait  patiently 
till  he  had  recovered  strength  sufficient  to  aontinue  his  per- 
formance. 

The  colonel  informed  them,  in  the   meanwhile,  of  the 


THE  DEATH'S  HEAD.  293 

species  of  jest  that  he  had  projected  to  play  on  them,  and  for 
the  failure  of  which,  he  could  not  at  that  moment  account.  At 
last,  Calzolaro,  with  an  abashed  air,  spoke  as  follows: — 

"  The  spectacle  which  I  designed  to  have  given,  has  ter- 
minated in  a  terrible  manner  for  me.  But,  happily  for  the 
honourable  company  present,  I  perceive  they  did  not  see  the 
frightful  apparition  which  caused  me  a  temporary  privation  of 
my  reason.  Scarcely  had  I  raised  the  death's  head  on  the 
point  of  my  sword,  and  had  begun  to  address  it,  than  it 
appeared  to  me  in  my  father's  features:  and,  whether  my  ears 
deceived  rne  or  not,  I  am  ignorant;  neither  do  I  know  how  I 
was  restored  to  my  senses;  but  I  heard  it  say,  '  Tremble, 
parricide,  whom  nothing  can  convert,  and  who  wilt  not  turn  to 
the  path  thou  hast  abandoned!'"  — 

The  very  recollection  produced  such  horror  on  Calzolaro's 
mind,  as  to  stop  his  respiration  and  prevent  his  proceeding 
The  colonel  briefly  explained  to  the  spectators  what  ap- 
peared to  them  mysterious  in  his  words,  and  then  said  to  the 
penitent  juggler: — 

"  Since  your  imagination  has  played  you  so  strange  a 
trick,  I  exhort  you  in  future  to  avoid  all  similar  accidents, 
and  to  accept  the  arrangement  proposed  to  you  by  the  person 
whom  your  father  has  named  as  his  heir." 

"  No,  monsieur,"  answered  he,  "  no  agreement,  no  bargain; 
else  I  shall  only  half  fulfil  ray  duty.  Everything  shall 
belong  to  this  heiress,  and  the  law-suit  shall  be  abandoned." 

He,  at  the  same  time,  declared  that  he  was  weary  of  the 
mode  of  life  he  had  adopted,  and  that  every  wish  of  his 
father's  should  be  fulfilled. 

The  colonel  told  him,  that  such  a  resolution  compensated 
for  what  had  failed  in  the  evening's  amusement. 

The  company,  however,  did  not  cease  making  numberless 
inquiries  of  Calzolaro,  many  of  which  were  very  ludicrous. 
They  were  anxious  to  know,  among  other  things,  whether 
the  head  which  had  appeared  to  him.  resembled  that  of  a 
corpse  or  a  living  being. 

"  It  most  probably  belongs  to  a  corpse,"  he  replied.  "  I 
was  so  thunderstruck  with  the  horrible  effect  of  it,  that  I 
Cannot  remember  minutia?.  Imagine  an  only  son,  with  the 
point  of  a  sword  which  he  holds  in  his  hand,  piercing  his 
father's  skull!  The  bare  idea  is  sufficient  to  deprive  one  of 
one's  senses." 

"  I  did  not  believe,"  answered  the  colonel,  after  having  for 
some  time  considered  Calzolaro,  "  that  the  conscience  of  a 
c  c2 


294  TALES  OF  OTHER  DAYS. 

man  who,  like  you,  has  rambled  the  world  over,  could  still  be 
so  much  overcome  by  the  powers  of  imagination." 

"  What!  monsieur,  do  you  still  doubt  the  reality  of  the 
apparition,  though  I  am  ready  to  attest  it  bv  the  most  sacred 
oaths  ?" 

"  Your  assertion  contradicts  itself.  We  have  also  our 
eyes  to  see  what  really  exists;  and  nobody,  excepting  your- 
self, saw  any  other  than  a  simple  skull." 

"That  is  what  I  cannot  explain:  but,  this  I  can  add,  that 
I  am  firmly  persuaded,  although  even  now  I  cannot  account 
for  my  so  thinking,  that,  as  sure  as  I  exist,  that  head  is 
actually  and  truly  the  head  of  rny  father:  I  am  ready  to 
attest  it  by  my  most  solemn  oath." 

^"  To  prevent  your  perjuring  yourself,  they  shall  instantly 
go  to  the  sexton,  and  learn  the  truth." 

Saying  this,  the  colonel  went  out  to  give  the  necessary 
orders.  He  returned  an  instant  afterwards,  saying: — 

"  Here  is  another  strange  phenomenon.  The  sexton  is  in 
this  house,  but  is  not  able  to  answer  my  questions.  Anxious 
to  enjoy  the  spectacle  I  was  giving  my  friends,  he  mixed  with 
some  of  my  servants,  who,  possessing  the  same  degree  of 
curiosity,  had  softly  opened  the  door,  through  which  the 
chafing-dish  was  conveyed.  But,  at  the  moment  of  the  con- 
juror falling  on  the  floor,  the  same  insensibility  overcame  the 
sexton;  who,  even  now,  has  not  recovered  his  reason, 
although  they  have  used  every  possible  method  to  restore 
him." 

One  of  the  party  said,  that,  being  subject  to  fainting  him- 
self, he  constantly  carried  about  him  a  liquor,  the  effect  of 
which  was  wonderful  in  such  cases,  and  that  he  would  go  and 
try  it  now  on  the  sexton.  They  all  followed  him:  but  this 
did  not  succeed  better  than  the  methods  previously  resorted  to. 

"  This  man  must  indeed  be  dead,"  said  the  person  who 
had  used  the  liquor  without  effect  on  him. 

The  clock  in  the  tower  had  just  struck  one,  and  every 
person  thought  of  retiring;  but  slight  symptoms  of  returning 
life  being  perceptible  in  the  sexton,  they  still  remained. 

"  God  be  praised !"  exclaimed  the  sexton,  awaking;  "  he 
is  at  length  restored  to  rest !" 

"  Who,  old  dad  ?"  said  the  colonel. 

"  Our  late  schoolmaster." 

"  What,  then!  that  head  was  actually  his?" 

"  Alas !  if  you  will  only  promise  not  to  be  angry  with  me,  I 
will  confess — it  was  his." 


THE  DEATH'S  HEAD.  29") 

The  colonel  then  asked  him  how  the  idea  of  disturbing  the 
schoolmaster's  corpse  in  particular,  came  into  his  head. 

"  Owing  to  a  diabolical  boldness.  It  is  commonly  believed, 
that  when  a  child  speaks  to  the  head  of  its  deceased  parent, 
at  the  midnight  hour,  the  head  comes  to  life  again.  I  was 
anxious  to  prove  the  fact,  but  shall  never  recover  from  its 
effects:  happily,  however,  the  head  is  restored  to  rest." 

"  They  asked  him  how  he  knew  it.  He  answered,  that 
he  had  seen  it  all  the  while  he  was  in  a  state  of  lethargy: 
that,  as  the  clock  struck  one,  his  wife  had  finished  reinterring 
the  head  in  its  grave.  And  he  described,  in  the  most  minute 
manner,  how  she  held  it. 

The  curiosity  of  the  company  assembled,  was  so  much  ex- 
cited by  witnessing  these  inexplicable  events,  that  they 
awaited  the  return  of  the  servant  whom  the  colonel  had 
despatched  to  the  sexton's  wife.  Everything  had  happened 
precisely  as  he  had  described;  the  clock  struck  one  at  the 
very  moment  the  head  was  laid  in  the  grave. 

These  events  had  produced  to  the  spectators  a  night  of 
much  greater  terrors  than  the  colonel  had  prepared  for  them. 
Nay,  even  his  imagination  was  raised  -to  such  'a  pitch,  that 
the  least  breath  of  wind,  or  the  slightest  noise,  appeared  to 
him  as  a  forerunner  to  some  disagreeable  visitor  from  the 
world  of  spirits. 

He  was  out  of  his  bed  at  dawn  of  day,  to  look  out  of  his 
window,  and  see- the  occasion  of  the  noise  which  at  that  hour 
was  heard  at  the  inn-door.  He  saw  the  rope-dancers  seated 
in  the  carriage,  about  to  take  their  departure.  Calzolaro  was 
not  with  them,  but  presently  afterwards  came  to  the  side  of 
the  vehicle,  where  he  took  leave  of  them:  the  children 
seemed  to  leave  him  behind  with  regret. 

The  carriage  drove  off;  and  the  colonel  made  a  signal  to 
Calzolaro  to  come  and  speak  to  him. 

"  I  apprehend,"  said  he  to  him,  when  he  came  in, "  that 
you  have  taken  entire  leave  of  your  troop." 

"  Well,  monsieur,  ought  I  not  so  to  do?" 

"  It  appears  to  me,  a  procedure  in  which  you  have  acted 
with  as  little  reflection  as  the  one  which  tempted  you  first  to 
join  them.  You  ought  rather  to  have  availed  yourself  of 
some  favourable  occasion  for  withdrawing  the  little  capital  that 
you  have  in  their  funds." 

"  Do  you  then,  monsieur  colonel,  forget  what  has  happened 
to  me;  that  I  could  not  have  enjoyed  another  moment  of  re- 
pose in  the  society  of  persons  who  are  only  externally  men  ? 


296  1AJLES    Oi'    Oil!  Ell    DAYS. 

Every  time  I  recall  the  scene  of  last  night  to  my  recollection, 
my  very  blood  freezes  in  my  veins.  From  this  moment,  I 
must  do  all  in  my  power  to  appease  my  father's  shade,  which 
is  now  so  justly  incensed  against  me.  Without  much  effort, 
I  have  withdrawn  myself  from  a  profession  which  never  had 
any  great  charms  for  me.  Reflect  only  on  the  misery  of  being 
the  chief  of  a  troop,  who,  to  earn  a  scanty  morsel  of  bread,  are 
compelled  every  moment  to  risk  their  lives ! — and  even  this 
morsel  of  bread  not  always  attainable.  Moreover,  I  know 
that  the  clown  belonging  to  the  troop,  who  is  a  man  devoid 
of  all  sentiment,  has  for  a  long  while  aspired  to  become  the 
chief;  and  I  know  that  he  has  for  some  time  been  devising 
various  means  to  remove  me  from  this  world:  therefore,  it 
appears  to  me,  that  I  have  not  been  precipitate  in  relin- 
quishing my  rights  to  him,  for  a  trifling  sum  of  money.  I 
only  feel  for  the  poor  children,  and  would  willingly  have 
purchased  them,  to  save  them  from  so  unhappy  a  career;  but 
he  would  not  take  any  price  for  them.  I  have  only  one  con- 
solation, which  is,  the  hope  that  the  inhuman  treatment  they 
will  experience  at  his  hands,  will  induce  them  to  make  their 
escape,  and  follow  a  better  course  of  life." 

"  And  what  do  you  purpose  doing  yourself?" 

"  I  have  told  you  that  I  shall  retire  to  some  obscure  corner 
of  Germany,  and  follow  the  profession  to  which  my  father 
destined  me." 

The  colonel  made  him  promise  to  wait  a  little;  and,  if  pos- 
sible, he  would  do  something  for  him. 

In  the  interim,  the  heiress  to  his  father's  property  arrived, 
to  have  a  conference  on  the  subject  with  him.  As  soon  as 
he  had  made  known  his  intentions  to  her,  she  entreated  him 
no  longer  to  refuse  half  the  inheritance,  or  at  least,  to  receive 
it  as  a  voluntary  gift  on  her  part.  The  goodness,  the  sweet- 
ness of  this  young  person  (who  was  pretty  also)  so  pleased 
Calzolaro,  that  a  short  time  afterwards  he  asked  her  hand  in 
marriage.  She  consented  to  give  it  to  him;  and  the  colonel 
then  exerted  himself  more  readily  in  behalf  of  this  man,  who 
had  already  gained  his  favour.  He  fulfilled  his  wishes  by 
sending  him  to  a  little  property  belonging  to  his  wife,  to 
follow  the  profession  his  father  had  fixed  on  for  him. 

Ere  he  set  off,  Calzolaro  resumed  his  German  name  of 
Schurster.  The  good  pastor,  who  had  so  recently  felt  indig- 
nant at  his  obstinacy,  gave  the  nuptial  benediction  to  the 
happy  couple,  in  presence  of  the  colonel  and  his  family,  who, 
on  this  occasion,  gave  an  elegant  entertainment  at  the  rhdtcuu. 


WALDECK  297 

In  me  evening,  a  little  after  sunset,  the  bride  and  bride- 
groom were  walking  in  the  garden,  at  some  little  distance 
from  the  rest  of  the  company,  and  appeared  plunged  in  a  deep 
revery.  All  on  a  sudden  they  looked  at  each  other,  for  it 
seemed  to  them  that  some  one  took  a  hand  of  each  and 
united  them.  They  declared,  at  least,  that  the  idea  of  this 
action  having  taken  place  came  to  them  both  so  instanta- 
neously and  so  involuntarily,  that  they  were  astonished  at  it 
themselves. 

An  instant  afterwards,  they  distinctly  heard  these  words: — 

"  May  God  bless  your  union!"  pronounced  by  the  voice  ot 
Calzolaro's  father. 

The  bridegroom  told  the  colonel,  some  time  afterwards, 
that  without  these  consolatory  words,  the  terrible  apparition 
•which  he  saw  on  the  memorable  night,  would  assuredly  have 
haunted  him  all  his  life,  and  have  impoisoned  his  happiest 
moments. 


WALDECK. 

A    TALE    FROM    THE    GERMAN. 

ALOYS  VON  WALDECK  was  the  son  of  a  respectable  gentle- 
man in  the  territory  of  Hesse-Cassel;  and  the  germs  of  his 
promising  genius  were  early  unfolded  by  a  liberal  education. 
When  yet  very  young,  but  already  furnished  with  well- 
grounded  knowledge,  he  entered  the  military  service  of  his 
sovereign ;  and,  as  a  young  man  of  great  merit  and  still  greater 
hope,  he  could  not  long  remain  unknown  to  such  a  prince. 
He  was  in  the  full  fire  of  youth;  so  was  the  prince.  Aloys 
was  ardent  and  enterprising;  the  prince,  who  was  of  a  similar 
temperament,  had  a  natural  affection  for  characters  so  con- 
stituted. With  a  rich  vein  of  wit,  Waldeck  had  a  great 
facility  in  giving  animation  to  social  intercourse:  every  circle 
in  which  he  mixed,  he  enlivened  by  an  unfailing  festivity  of 
mind;  and,  indeed,  upon  everything  which  chance  brought 
before  him,  he  had  the  art  of  shedding  life  and  fascination. 
Such  graces  and  accomplishments  the  prince  could  not  want 
discernment  to  appreciate.  Everything  which  Aloys  under- 
took— even  his  very  sports — had  an  air  of  grandeur.  A  fine 
person,  the  image  of  health  and  strength,  and  a  native  majesty 


298  TALES  OF  OTHER  DAYS. 

of  deportment,  enhanced  the  value  of  his  attractive  qualities. 
The  favour  of  his  sovereign  led  to  a  frequency  of  promotion; 
and,  before  he  was  twenty-two  years  old,  he  found  himself 
upon  an  elevation  which  hitherto  had  been  to  the  most  fortu- 
nate the  consummation  of  their  career.  But  a  mind  so  active 
as  his,  could  not  long  repose  in  the  bosom  of  indolent  vanity, 
or  content  itself  with  the  glittering  pomp  of  a  high  station, 
the  substantial  exercise  of  which  he  felt  in  himself  courage 
and  abilities  to  conduct.  Whilst  the  prince  was  flying  after 
the  circles  of  pleasure,  the  young  favourite  buried  himself 
among  archives  and  books,  and  dedicated  himself  with  labo- 
rious industry  to  business,  of  which  at  length  he  became  so 
expert  a  master,  that  every  concern  which  was  of  any  im- 
portance passed  through  his  hands.  From  the  associate  of 
his  pleasure,  he  soon  became  the  first  counsellor,  the  prime 
minister,  and,  finally,  the  ruler  of  his  sovereign.  He  disposed 
of  all  offices  and  dignities,  and  all  rewards  were  received  from 
his  hands. 

To  this  greatness  he  had  mounted  in  too  early  youth,  and 
by  too  hasty  steps,  to  enjoy  it  with  moderation.  The  eminence 
upon  which  he  beheld  himself,  overpowered  his  modesty.  The 
respectful  submissiveness  of  manner  in  which  he  was  addressed 
by  the  first  persons  of  the  land,  tended  to  intoxicate  his  pride; 
and  the  unlimited  power  w-hich  he  possessed,  drew  into  light 
a  certain  harshness  of  manner,  which  had  been  long  latent. 
No  service  was  so  toilsome  and  so  vast,  which  his  friends  did 
not  with  confidence  anticipate  at  his  hands;  but  his  enemies 
might  well  tremble;  for,  as  he  pushed  his  favour  to  extrava- 
gant lengths,  so  did  he  carry  with  him  a  total  neglect  of  all 
moderation  in  the  prosecution  of  his  vengeance.  The  in- 
fluence of  his  station  he  employed,  not  so  much  to  enrich 
himself,  as  to  lift  into  fortune  and  notice  a  multitude  who 
should  pay  homage  to  him  as  the  creator  of  their  prosperity; 
but  caprice,  and  not  justice,  determined  the  choice  of  his 
vassals.  By  a  haughty  and  imperious  demeanour,  he  alienated 
the  hearts  of  those  whom  he  had  most  obliged,  whilst  he  con- 
verted his  rivals  into  irreconcileable  enemies. 

Among  those  who  watched  his  steps  with  eyes  of  jealousy 
and  envy,  and  who  were  silently  preparing  instruments  for 
his  destruction,  was  Joseph  Martinelli,  a  Piedmontese,  whom 
he  had  highly  favoured.  Having  a  place  in  the  household, 
the  artful  Italian  took  every  opportunity  of  making  himself 
necessary  and  indispensable  to  the  prince's  comfort.  He 
penetrated  the  recesses  of  his  master's  mind,  discovered  every 


WALDECK.  299 

avenue  to  his  confidence,  and  imperceptibly  stole  into  his 
favour.  All  those  arts,  which  a  noble  pride  and  a  natural 
magnanimity  had  taught  the  minister  to  disdain,  were  brought 
into  play  by  the  traitor,  who  did  not  reject  the  most  abject 
means  that  could  promote  the  accomplishment  of  his  purpose. 
Well  aware,  that  man  nowhere  feels  his  want  of  a  »uide  and 
an  assistant  more  powerfully  than  in  the  paths  of  vice,  and 
that  nothing  gives  a  title  to  bolder  familiarities,  than  sharing 
in  the  knowledge  of  infirmities  and  degradations  which  have 
been  concealed  from  others,  he  roused  passions  in  the  prince 
which  had  slumbered  within  him,  and  then  obtruded  himself 
upon  him  as  a  confidant  and  an  accomplice.  He  hurried 
him  into  excesses  of  that  sort,  which  can  least  of  all  endure 
witnesses;  and  he  thus  accustomed  the  prince  imperceptibly 
to  make  him  the  depository  of  mysteries  from  which  every 
third  person  was  excluded.  He  at  length  succeeded  in  found- 
ing his  infamous  schemes  of  personal  elevation  upon  the 
degradation  of  the  prince;  and,  from  the  very  same  mystery 
which  he  had  adopted,  as  an  essential  instrument  of  success, 
he  drew  this  farther  advantage — that  the  heart  of  the  prince 
was  his  own,  before  Aloys  had  even  allowed  himself  to  sus- 
pect that  he  shared  it  with  any  other. 

It  may  seem  surprising  that  a  revolution  so  important 
should  escape  the  notice  of  the  latter;  but  he  was  too  well 
assured  of  his  own  value,  ever  to  think  even  of  such  a  man  as 
Martinelli  in  the  light  of  a  competitor;  and  the  Italian  was 
far  too  much  alive  to  his  own  purposes,  and  too  much  on  his 
guard,  to  allow  himself,  by  any  indiscretion,  to  disturb  his 
enemy  in  this  haughty  state  of  security.  That,  which  has 
caused  thousands  before  him  to  lose  their  footing  upon  the 
slippery  ground  of  princely  favour,  also  supplanted  Waldeck — 
immoderate  self-confidence.  The  secret  intimacy  between 
Martinelli  and  his  master,  gave  him  no  alarms.  He  readily 
made  over  to  this  stranger  a  privilege  which,  for  his  own 
part,  he  heartily  despised,  and  which  had  never  been  the 
object  of  his  exertions.  Simply,  because  in  that  way  only  he 
could  pave  his  road  to  the  supreme  power,  had  the  prince's 
friendship  offered  any  attractions  to  him;  and,  no  sooner  had 
the  ladder  lifted  him  to  the  eminence  which  he  coveted,  than, 
with  perfect  levity,  he  suffered  it  to  fall  behind  him. 

Martinelli  was  not  inclined  to  rest  satisfied  with  a  part  so 
subordinate.  At  every  step  which  he  advanced  in  the  favour 
of  his  master,  his  wishes  became  bolder,  and  his  ambition 
began  to  grasp  at  a  more  substantial  gratification.  The  artful 


300  TALES  OF  OTHER  DAYS. 

and  histrionic  sort  of  humility,  which  he  had  hitherto  eon 
stantly  maintained  in  the  presence  of  his  patron,  grew  more 
and  more  oppressive  to  him,  as  tlte  increase  of  his  personal 
consequence  roused  his  pride  into  activity.  At  length  this 
constrained  and  discordant  connexion  became  so  irksome  to 
him,  that  he  framed  a  serious  scheme  for  putting  an  end  to  it 
at  once,  by  the  destruction  of  his  rival.  This  scheme,  under 
the  most  impenetrable  veil  of  dissimulation,  he  nurtured  into 
maturity.  As  yet,  he  durst  not  run  the  hazard  of  measuring 
his  strength  against  that  of  his  competitor,  in  open  combat; 
for,  although  the  early  bloom  had  passed  away  from  the 
favour  which  Aloys  had  once  enjoyed,  yet  it  had  begun  too 
early,  and  had  taken  root  in  the  breast  of  the  young  prince 
too  deeply,  to  be  thus  abruptly  dislodged.  The  slightest 
occurrence  might  restore  it  in  all  its  original  strength;  and, 
therefore,  Martinelli  well  knew  that  the  utmost  caution  was 
requisite.  What  Aloys  might  have  lost,  perhaps,  in  the  affec- 
tions of  the  prince,  he  had  gained  in  his  respect.  The  more 
•  his  highness  had  withdrawn  himself  from  the  administration 
of  public  affairs,  the  less  he  could  dispense  with  the  services 
of  a  man,  who,  with  the  most  conscientious  devotion  and 
fidelity,  had  consulted  the  private  interests  of  his  master,  even 
at  the  expense  of  the  country;  and,  dear  as  Waldeck  hau 
formerly  been  to  him,  in  the  character  of  friend,  no  less  im- 
portant to  him  was  he  at  this  moment,  in  that  of  minister. 

It  is  uncertain  by  what  means  the  Italian  accomplished  his 
purpose;  but  it  is  conjectured,  that  he  laid  before  the  prince 
the  original  draughts  of  a  clandestine  and  very  suspicious 
correspondence,  which  the  minister  was  said  to  have  carried 
on  with  a  neighbouring  court.  In  the  eyes  of  his  master,  he 
appeared  the  most  ungrateful  traitor,  whose  offences  were 
placed  so  far  beyond  all  colourable  doubt,  that,  without  farther 
investigation,  there  seemed  to  be  no  room  for  hesitating  to 
proceed  against  him.  In  the  profoundest  secrecy,  the  whole 
affair  was  arranged  between  Martinelli  and  his  master;  so 
that  Aloys  suspected  not  in  the  least  his  danger. 

The  parade  of  guard,  the  ordinary  scene  of  his  power,  now 
became  the  theatre  of  his  disgrace.  With  a  careless  step  he 
entered  the  well-known  circle,  that  on  this  day,  as  on  all  the 
former,  opened  before  him,  respectfully  awaiting  his  com- 
mands. Short  was  the  interval  which  elapsed,  before  there 
appeared,  with  two  adjutants  in  attendance,  Martinelli;  who, 
with  a  determined  step  of  defiance,  strode  up  to  the  minister, 
and,  facing  him  with  his  head  covered,  demanded  his  sword  in 


WALDECK.  301 

the  prince's  name.  With  a  look  of  silent  consternation,  the 
sword  was  surrendered  to  him:  drawing  it  from  the  scabbard, 
he  inclined  the  point  to  the  ground;  with  a  single  step  split 
it  in  two,  and  threw  the  fragments  at  the  feet  of  Aloys.  At 
this  appointed  signal,  the  two  adjutants  proceeded  to  lay 
hands  upon  him;  one  busied  himself  in  cutting  away  from  his 
breast  the  cross  of  his  order;  the  other  in  stripping  oft'  both 
his  epaulettes,  together  with  the  facing  of  his  uniform,  and  in 
tearing  out  of  his  hat  the  badge  and  plume.  Throughout 
this  appalling  operation,  which  was  conducted  with  incredible 
speed,  from  the  whole  assembly  of  above  five  hundred  persons, 
who  were  standing  closely  around,  not  a  sound,  not  a  sinjjle 
respiration  could  be  heard.  With  pallid  faces  and  hearts 
throbbing,  stood  the  dismayed  multitude  in  a  circle  about 
Waldeck,  who,  during  the  confounding  disarray  of  his  person, 
had  in  a  moment  lived  through  all  the  feelings  that  could  be 
experienced  on  the  scaffold.  Many,  in  his  situation,  would 
have  been  stretched  senseless  on  the  ground  by  the  first 
shock;  but  his  robust  structure  of  nerves,  and  his  firmness  of 
spirit,  bore  him  up  against  this  dreadful  trial,  and  enabled 
him  to  drink  up  its  horrors  to  the  last  drop. 

Scarcely  was  this  scene  over,  when  he  was  led  through 
ranks  of  innumerable  spectators,  to  the  extremity  of  the 
parade,  where  a  close  carriage  was  in  waiting.  A  silent  glance 
commanded  him  to  enter  it,  and  an  escort  of  hussars  attended 
him.  Meantime,  the  report  of  what  had  just  passed,  was 
spread  through  the  whole  city;  every  window  was  flung  up, 
every  street  was  crammed  with  anxious  spectators,  who  fol- 
lowed the  cavalcade,  shouting  and  repeating  his  name,  amidst 
tumultuous  and  conflicting  outcries  of  scorn,  of  malicious 
exultation,  and  of  commiseration,  more  bitter  than  either.  At 
length  he  cleared  the  town,  and  the  carriage,  about  sun-set, 
halted  at  the  place  of  his  destination — the  state  prison.  Bereft 
of  consciousness,  midway  between  life  and  death  (for  a  twelve 
hours'  fasting,  and  a  burning  thirst,  had  subdued  even  his 
colossal  nature,)  he  was  dragged  out  of  the  coach;  and,  in  a 
hideous  subterranean  vault,  he  first  returned  to  his  senses. 
The  first  object  which  presented  itself  to  him,  as  life  was 
again  dawning  upon  his  eyes,  was  a  dreadful  dungeon  wall, 
feebly  illuminated  by  a  few  rays  from  the  moon,  which  pene- 
trated downwards,  through  small  crevices,  to  a  depth  of  nine- 
teen fathoms.  By  his  side  he  found  a  coarse  loaf,  with  a  jug 
of  water;  and,  close  to  that,  a  bundle  of  straw  for  his  bed. 
In  this  condition  he  remained  until  the  succeeding  noon,  when 


302  TALES    OF    OTli£,.»    ^AYS. 

a  trap-door  opened  in  the  middle  of  the  tow  er,  and  two  hand* 
appeared,  by  which  food,  such  as  he  had  found  on  the  pre- 
ceding night,  was  let  down  in  a  hanging-basket.  At  this 
moment,  for  the  first  time  during  this  whole  frightful  revolu- 
tion of  fortune,  did  pain,  and  the  anguish  of  suspense,  extort 
from  him  a  question  or  two.  Wherefore  was  he  brought 
hither?  What  offence  had  he  committed?  But  no  answer 
came  from  above;  the  hands  vanished,  and  the  trap-door 
closed.  In  this  abode  of  misery — without  a  glance  even  at 
"  the  countenance  divine"  of  man,  without  a  sound  from 
human  voices,  without  any  ray  of  light  to  interpret  his  awful 
destiny,  fearful  doubts  and  misgivings  overshadowing  alike 
the  past  and  the  future,  cheered  by  no  beams  of  "  day  or  the 
warm  light,"  with  no  refreshment  of  healthy  breezes  to  his 
fainting  spirits,  shut  out  and  rejected  from  the  sympathy  of 
mankind — in  this  abode  did  he  number  a  long  succession  of 
days  of  anguish,  registering  them  by  the  wretched  loaves, 
which  at  every  noon-tirne,  day  after  day,  in  mournful  monotony, 
were  let  down  into  his  dungeon.  But  one  discovery,  which  he 
made  in  an  early  stage  of  his  confinement,  filled  up  the  mea- 
sure of  his  affliction.  He  recognized  the  place;  he  was  the 
man  who,  a  few  months  before,  had  rebuilt  it,  under  the  im- 
pulse of  an  ignoble  revenge,  in  order  to  inflict  a  languishing 
imprisonment  on  a  deserving  officer,  who  had  been  so  unfor- 
tunate as  to  incur  his  displeasure.  With  barbarous  ingenuity,  he 
had  himself  suggested  the  means  of  aggravating  the  horrors  of 
confinement  in  this  dungeon,  and  had  made  a  journey  for  the 
sole  purpose  of  inspecting  the  building  and  hastening  its  com- 
pletion. As  if  to  push  his  torments  to  the  utmost,  the  very 
officer  for  whom  this  prison  had  been  constructed,  had  just 
succeeded  the  Fate  commandant  of  the  fortress,  and  in  this  way, 
from  being  the  victim  of  his  vengeance,  had  become  the 
master  of  his  fate.  Thus  vanished  from  his  eyes  the  last 
melancholy  consolation  of  his  misery — the  privilege  of  feeling 
pity  for  himself,  or  of  taxing  his  destiny,  harshly  as  it  might 
treat  him,  with  any  injustice.  In  addition  to  the  lively  sense 
of  his  own  sufferings,  he  now  felt  a  bitter  self-contempt,  and 
also  the  pain  (which,  to  a  proud  spirit,  is  among  the  severest) 
of  a  conscious  dependence  upon  the  magnanimous  forbearance 
of  an  enemy,  to  whom  he  had  himself  shown  none. 

The  new  commandant,  however,  was  too  noble  to  allow  him- 
self a  base  revenge.  Infinite  was  the  pain  which  it  cost  his  be- 
nignant rnind  to  enforce  against  the  prisoner  those  severities  of 
treatment  which  his  instructions  enjoined  him.  Nevertheless, 


/  WALDECK.  303 

us  an  old  soldier,  who  had  been  accustomed  to  observe  the 
letter  of  his  orders  with  unquestioning1  fidelity,  he  had  it  riot 
in  his  power  to  grant  him  anything  more  than  his  pity.  A 
more  active  assistant  the  unhappy  man  at  length  found  in  the 
chaplain  of  the  garrison,  who,  moved  by  the  sufferings  of  the 
prisoner,  resolved  to  do  something  for  their  alleviation.  This 
venerable  clergyman  thought  that  he  could  in  no  better  way 
fulfil  the  duties  of  his  pastoral  office,  than  by  exerting  its 
whole  influence  in  behalf  of  a  wretched  man,  whom  he  had 
no  other  means  of  serving.  Not  being  able  to  obtain  leave 
of  access  to  the  prisoner  from  the  commandant  of  the  fortress, 
he  repaired  to  the  metropolis,  there  to  urge  his  suit  with  the 
prince.  He  kneeled  before  his  highness,  and  besought  him 
to  extend  his  mercy  to  one,  who,  shut  out  as  he  was  from  the 
consolations  of  Christianity,  and  from  those  privileges  of 
humanity  which  the  heaviest  guilt  could  not  cancel,  was 
pining  away  in  helpless  desolation,  and  possibly  not  far  from 
despair.  With  all  that  intrepidity  and  dignity  which  the 
conscious  discharge  of  duty  bestows,  he  demanded  free 
entrance  to  the  prisoner,  as  a  son  of  affliction  and  of  peni- 
tence, who  belonged  of  right  to  him,  and  for  whose  soul's 
welfare  he  was  answerable  to  God.  The  good  cause  in  which 
he  spoke  made  him  eloquent;  and,  as  the  prince's  displeasure 
had  been  in  some  degree  softened  by  time,  his  prayer  was 
granted. 

Horror  seized  the  chaplain,  on  his  entrance  into  the  dun- 
geon. His  eyes  were  wandering  about  in  search  of  a  human 
creature;  and,  behold!  from  a  corner  opposite  to  him,  which 
resembled  rather  the  lair  of  a  wild  beast  than  the  abode  of 
anything  in  human  shape,  crawled  forth  a  creature  that 
awakened  a  rueful  and  a  shuddering  pity — a  srhastly  and 
death-like  skeleton — a  face  in  which  sorrow  and  despair  had 
imprinted  deep  furrows — beard  and  nails,  through  long  neglect, 
grown  to  a  hideous  length — clothes,  from  long  use,  half  rotted 
away — and,  from  total  want  of  ventilation,  the  very  air  about 
him  thick,  sickly,  and  infectious;  such  was  the  condition  in 
which  he  found  this  darling  of  fortune;  and  even  in  such  a 
state  his  iron  constitution  had  not  given  way.  Transported 
with  horror  by  such  a  spectacle,  the  chaplain  hurried  away  to 
the  governor,  for  the  purpose  of  extorting  a  second  indulgence 
to  the  poor  wretch,  without  which,  the  first  went  for  nothing. 

As  the  governor  again  excused  himself,  by  pleading  the 
express  letter  of  his  instructions,  the  chaplain  resolved  on  a 
second  journey  to  the  capital,  with  the  view  of  once  »nore 


304  TALES  OF  OTHER  DAYS. 

making  a  claim  upon  the  prince's  clemency.  There  he  pro- 
tested solemnly,  that,  without  violating  the  holy  majesty  of 
the  sacrament,  he  never  could  bring  himself  to  go  through 
any  sacred  rites  with  the  prisoner,  unless  some  resemblance 
to  the  form  of  man  should  be  restored  to  him.  This  petition 
was  also  granted  to  him;  and,  from  this  day,  the  prisoner 
drew  his  breath  again  in  an  atmosphere  of  hope.  He  passed 
many  years  in  this  fortress;  but,  after  the  first  summer  of  the 
new  favourite  had  elapsed,  and  others  had  succeeded  to  his 
post,  who  either  thought  more  humanely,  or,  who  had  no 
vengeance  to  wreak  upon  him,  he  spent  them  in  a  far  more 
tolerable  condition.  At  last,  after  a  ten  years'  confinement, 
the  day  of  his  deliverance  appeared;  but  he  had  no  judicial 
investigation,  no  formal  acquittal.  He  received  his  freedom 
as  a  favour,  not  as  a  right;  and  was  ordered  to  quit  the 
country  for  ever. 

At  this  point,  our  information  with  regard  to  his  history 
fails,  and  we  are  obliged  to  step  over  an  interval  of  twenty 
years.  During  this  period,  he  began  his  career  anew,  in  a 
foreign  military  service;  and  here,  also,  it  conducted  him  to 
the  same  glittering  eminence  from  which  he  had,  in  his 
native  country,  been  so  awfully  precipitated.  At  length, 
time  took  into  his  own  hands  the  winding-up  of  this  affair. 
The  years  of  passion  had  passed  away  with  the  prince;  and, 
as  his  hair  began  to  whiten,  human  nature  asserted  her  power 
over  his  mind,  and  he  felt  an  earnest  yearning  awakened  in 
him,  toward  the  favourite  of  his  youth.  In  order  to  make 
some  reparation,  he  sent  a  message  to  the  exile,  inviting  him 
back  to  his  home,  toward  which,  his  heart  had  long  since 
turned  in  secrecy  with  languishing  desire.  Touching  was 
the  interview  of  re-union,  and  flattering  was  the  reception. 
The  prince  perused,  with  a  pensive  eye,  that  countenance, 
whose  lineaments  had  been  so  familiar  to  him;  and  it  seemed 
as  if  he  counted  the  furrows  which  he  had  himself  imprinted 
there.  Thus  was  he  restored  to  the  prince's  favour,  which 
he  retained  until  the  close  ot  his  life. 

Neither  misfortunes  nor  years  had  in  him  been  able  to  ex- 
tinguish the  fire  of  passion,  or  wholly  to  cloud  the  festal 
geniality  of  his  spirit.  In  his  seventieth  year,  he  was  still 
grasping  at  the  shadow  of  happiness  which  he  had  possessed 
in  his  twentieth.  Finally,  he  died,  governor  of  a  fortress  in 
which  state  prisoners  were  confined.  It  might  have  been 
expected,  that  toward  these  prisoners  he  would  display  a 
spirit  of  humanity,  the  value  of  which  he  must  have  learned 


THE    AWKWARD    MAX.  305 

so  well  how  to  appreciate  in  his  own  person.  But,  alas ! 
no: — he  treated  them  with  harshness  and  caprice;  and  a 
paroxym  of  rage  toward  one  of  them,  sent  him  to  his  grave, 
when  he  had  reached  the  eightieth  year  of  his  age ! 


THE    AWKWARD    MAN 

THOUGH  I  know  the  awkward  man  to  be  a  senseless  stony 
separation  between  the  dearest  attractions  on  earth,  I  am  one 
of  those  insipid  dull  «reatures,  who  are  so  wise  out  of  the 
world,  that  they  pass  for  fools  in  it.  I  can  better  illustrate 
the  character  I  begin  to  grow  weary  of  playing  in  this  excel- 
lent drama  of  life,  yet  cannot  "  shuffle  off,"  by  relating  my 
own  adventures  in  this  way.  I  am,  I  confess  it  with  some 
shame,  as  ignorant  of  the  world  as  the  world  is  of  me;  and 
have  only  been  used  to  look  at  men  as  children  look  at  an 
eclipse — through  glasses  darkened  and  dulled  with  the  smoke 
of  my  midnight  lamp;  but  a  kind,  though  mistaken  friend  of 
mine,  who  insisted  that  the  "  proper  study  of  mankind  is 
man,"  after  numberless  invitations  and  polite  pressures,  and 
gentle  tuggings,  pulled  me  up  by  the  roots  from  my  studious? 
bower,  as  a  gardener  plucks  up  a  thriving  weed  "  of  enormous 
overgrowth;"  disentangling  my  very  heart-strings  and  eye- 
strings,  from  the  richly-cultured  ground  in  the  Muses' garden, 
as  the  unfeeling  cultivator  of  cucumbers  uproots  that  useless, 
but  harmless  weed,  and  dragged  me  from  my  learned  lair,  to 
accompany  him  on  a  visit  to  some  fashionable  friends  in 
town.  I  submitted,  at  last,  with  about  as  good  a  grace  as 
Barnardine  did  to  be  hanged;  and  it  cost  me  as  many  efforts 
to  step  up  to  the  door,  as  it  did  him  to  mount  the  steps  of  the 
scaffold.  The  knock  was  given — the  door  opened — and  my 
friend  (must  I  call  him  'if)  perceiving  that  I  would  fain  have 
retreated,  seized  my  arm  and  dragged  me  in,  as  the  young 
oxen  were  dragged  into  the  temples  of  the  alicients,  where 
they  were  meant  to  be  sacrificed.  We  were  in,  however; 
and  I  passed  very  successfully  along  the  line  of  cane-carriers, 
lapdog-carriers,  door-knockers,  and  other  gentlemen  of  tho 
shoulder-knot,  without  being  openly  quizzed;  and  I  there- 
fore began  to  augur  well  of  my  success  in  future. 

15  D  D  2 


306  TALES  OF  OTHER  DATs. 

It  was  the  chilly  month  of  October;  and  we  were  ushered 
into  a   handsome    dining-room,    where    were   seated     mine 

hostess,  who  was  the  wealthy  widow  of  Colonel ,  four  or 

five  elesjant  females  (her  daughters,)  and  their  young  com- 
panions, a  captain  of  foot  (her  son,)  an  ensign  of  dragoons,  a 
fashionable  clergyman,  a  beau  cousin,  and  two  sundries,  with- 
out anything  distinguishable  about  them;  the  whole  party 
being  very  snugly  circled  round  a  warm,  welcome-giving 
autumnal  fire,  and  earnestly  employed  in  cracking  more  nuts 
than  jokes  over  the  dessert-table,  as  we  were  announced  and 
entered.  They  all  arose  to  receive  us,  and  with  them  rose 
my  heart  to  my  mouth;  the  courage  1  had  in  the  hall,  slipped 
through  my  fingers  like  a  live  eel  additionally  oiled,  or  a 
buttered  Chinese  pursued  by  a  Canton  crew  for  naked  night- 
rogueries.  I  made  something  like  an  oblique  bow,  which,  for 
anything  I  know  to  the  contrary,  was  meant  for  the  company 
present;  but  it  might  be  mistaken  to  have  been  intended  for 
the  bust  of  Shakspeare  on  the  sideboard,  or  Jones  or  Johnson, 
passing  under  the  window  at  the  time,  as  for  the  use  I  had 
put  it  to.  This  would  have  passed  unnoticed,  had  I  not,  in 
the  first  place,  in  retreating  my  right  foot  from  a  bow  in 
advance,  come  with  my  heel,  which  was  newly  pumped, 
sharp  against  the  shin  of  the  footman,  who  was  dutifully 
waiting  to  see  me  to  a  chair;  and  had  I  not,  in  the  second, 
in  shaking  hands  with  the  whole  party,  on  being  introduced, 
nipped  one  of  the  young  ladies' fingers  almost  in  the  bud,  and 
dropped  the  hand  of  a  second  without  shaking  it,  that  I 
might  grasp  a  third,  who  was  waiting  to  go  through  the 
ordeal;  and  had  I  not,  in  the  third  place,  shook  my  intro- 
ducing friend's  hand  so  long  and  so  cordiallv,  that  you  would 
have  supposed  I  had  never  seen  him  for  years,  instead  of 
being  brought  there  by  him.  Whether  I  shook  the  captain's 
hand,  or  did,  as  my  friend  schooled  me  afterwards  for  doing, 
refuse  the  clergyman's  proffered  hand  with  as  much  uncon- 
scious indifference  as  an  Atheist  would  feel  for  one  of  the 
cloth,  I  know  not;  for  all  the  rest  of  my  blunders  were  as 
much  done  in  a  dream,  as  Bunyan's  Pilgrim's  Progress  was 
seen  in  one.  «  But  we  were  at  last  securely  seated,  and  mv 
friend  and  I  much  blamed  that  we  did  not  dine  with  them, 
instead  of  coming  in  after  the  dessert.  "  It  was  impossible," 
he  said;  and  1  felt  glad  that  it  was  so.  The  \\ine  was  now 
set  before  us;  and  the  captain,  who  riyhted  me,  paid  me  the 
compliment  of  taking,  as  he  said,  a  glass  with  me,  though,  at 
the  time,  I  certainly  thought  that  I  had  been  introduced  to 


THE    AWKWARD    MAN.  307 

take  a  glass  with  mm.  But  n'importe!  as  the  French  say  in 
England.  I  felt  inclined  to  toast  the  ladies,  in  the  excess  of 
my  gallantry;  but,  just  as  I  had  screwed  up  my  courage 
tight  to  the  peg,  it  cracked,  as  you  have  perhaps  seen  a  tenor 
string  to  a  fine  Cremona,  snap  itself  and  a  note  in' two,  and 
have  heard  the  imperfect  sound  die  under  the  bow — and  so 
died  my  gallantry  in  my  breast;  and  I  congratulated  myself 
the  next  minute  on  my  forbearance,  for  there  was  no  esti- 
mating what  a  long  succession  of  awkward  mistakes  it  might 
have  led  to.  But  the  spirit  of  my  sudden  gallantry  was  still 
effervescing  within,  and  I  thought  I  might  venture  on  being 
gallant  to  the  lady  who  lefted  me.  I  watched  her  wants, 
therefore,  with  the  eye  of  a  lover,  seeking  occasion  for  saying 
some  gallant  thing  or  for  doing  one.  Her  eyes,  which  were 
the  prettiest  pair  of  blue  eyes  I  had  ever  seen  out  of  poetry, 
settled  upon  a  peach,  like  two  sister  butterflies  of  that  azure 
hue,  which  gives  to  those  blue  seraphs  of  the  green  vales  of 
Kashmeer,  the  sovereignty  for  beauty.  I  was  all  haste  to 
serve  her  eyes,  and  so  to  win  her  heart;  but,  reaching  it  too 
hastily,  in  the  darting  of  my  arm,  I  threw  down  a  decanter  of 
Burgundy,  whose  issuing  tide  divided  and  subdivided  itself 
into  as  many  streams  as  you  will  sometimes  see  issuing  from 
an  allcgorial  urn  in  a  county  map.  Great  consternation 
ensued;  the  captain  feared  a  stain  on  his  military  small- 
clothes, the  clergyman,  a  stain  on  his  sacerdotal  cloth;  and 
the  ladies  looked  after  the  unsullied  snow  of  their  gowns 
(white  as  the  lawn  of  Cos,)  with  as  much  care  as  they  would 
after  their  characters  for  unspotted  virtue.  Many  apologies 
were  made  by  my  blushing  friend,  for  my  blushing  self;  which 
was  very  handsome  in  him,  as  I  was  too  confused  to  apolo- 
gize for  myself,  and  was  fully  employed  in  damming  up  the 
main  stream  with  my  handkerchief,  till  the  assisting  hand  of 
a  footman  at  rny  elbow,  who  was  as  welcome  to  me  then,  as 
is  the  sun  to  the  rain-drenched  meadows,  had  dried  up  the 
vinous  inundation.  My  friend  excused  me:  I  was,  first  of  all, 
very  near-sighted,  and  could  not  see  across  a  table;  and 
next,  I  was  very  "  nervous — weak."  The  accident  was  soon 
forgotten,  and  the  company  was  again  calm;  and  Awkward 
"  was  himself  again."  As  if  with  the  kind  intention  of 
making  me  easy,  my  fair  friend  on  my  left  began  to  be  on 
the  very  best  terms  with  me,  ;md  said  everything  that  was 
agreeable,  and  nothing  that  could  possibly  remind  me  of  my 
disgrace.  I  know  not  which  she  cracked  fastest,  nuts  or 
jokes;  I  grew  familiar,  and  said  several  sentences,  which 


308  TALES  OF  OTMEH  DAYS. 

were  neither  in  Sterne,  nor  in  the  prompter's  books,  nor  in  Ches- 
terfield, nor  in  the  Minorvan  library;  and  she  gave  me  so  much 
encouragement,  that  I  at  last  bearded  the  honour  of  cntckinur  a 
walnut  for  her,  which  had  mastered  the  strength  of  her  lender 
hands  and  the  teeth  of  her  polished  steel  nut-crackers.  1  w;is 
honoured;  and,  like  a  boor,  forgetting  myself,  and  delicacy 
too,  I  popped  the  nut  between  my  teeth,  and  cracked  it.  as  I 
have  seen  a  cook  crush  a  crab;  and,  from  this  indelicate  act, 
arose  this  very  diversified  choice  of  perplexities:  if  I  kept 
the  nut,  after  taking  it  from  between  the  teeth  of  her  inten- 
tions, she  might  think  me  a  greedy  man;  if  I  threw  the  nut 
away,  and  declared  it  to  be  a  bad  one,  her  eyes  had  seen  it 
was  a  good  one,  and  she  might  have  reason  to  doubt  my 
veracity;  if  I  gave  it  her  back  again,  she  must  needs  think 
me  to  be  a  filthy,  ill-bred  fellow;  in  short,  let  me  have  done 
what  I  could  with  the  nut,  my  reputation  had  been  cracked 
with  the  shell  of  it,  and  was  at  stake.  She,  however,  like 
a  humane  human  creature,  saw  that  I  sat  self-convicted  of  a 
fault  in  politeness — saw  too,  my  embarrassment,  and  relieved 
me  from  all  further  perplexity,  by  declaring  that  she  would  eat 
no  more  nuts,  for  they  were  crude  indigestible  things;  and,  in 
her  humorous  way,  began  wondering  what  physician  without 
patients,  first  introduced  them  to  the  dessert-table;  and  I 
answered  her  question,  by  surmising  that  it  might  be  Dr. 
Squirrel.  This  poor  pun  saved  me;  and,  while  she  was 
laughing  in  her  cambric,  I  took  occasion  to  slip  the  nut  of 
perplexity  into  my  pocket,  and  resumed  as  much  confidence 
as  I  shall  ever  possess. 

Thus  the  dessert-hour  passed  to  a  safe  conclusion,  for  I 
was  guilty  of  no  other  impropriety  than  the  one  I  have  men- 
tioned. But  now  came  on  the  dreaded  hour  for  tea,  and  now 
came  on  my  trepidations  afresh.  If  there  is  one  species  of 
circumstance  in  which  I  am  more  exquisitely  awkward  than 
another,  it  is  in  the  polite  etiquette  of  tea-table  ceremonies. 
Oh!  how  I  envy  you,  ye  nice-handed  Damons  of  the  tea- 
board!  Ye  insipid  sippers  of  the  fragrant  lymph!  ye  milli- 
nery men,  who  coolly  mince  down  the  hot  and  nervous  liquor 
which  "  not  inebriates,"  with  nerves  as  true  and  well-timed 
fo  your  will,  as  the  strings  of  the  violoncello  of  Linley  are  to  his 
•exquisite  hand !  Ye  gallant  cavaliers  of  souchong,  that  so  deli- 
cately and  gracefully  do  the  ceremonies  of  the  tea-tray,  before 
ihe  obliged  and  approving  eyes  of  the  attended  fair,  oh!  how 
I  envy  ye  the  calm  composure  of  your  crossed  knees,  and 
more  composed  faces,  unruffled  as  the  tea-water  in  your  cups! 


THE    AWKWARD    MAN.  309 

would  I  not  give  the  dearest  and  most  difficult-ti<-be-got 
Aldine  classic  out  of  my  unique  library,  to  purchase  that 
easy  jerk  of  your's,  of  one  of  two  feet  swinging  over  the  knee 
of  one  of  two  legs!  Ah,  how  I  hope,  and  then  despair,  ever 
to  attain  to  that  perfection  of  precision,  which  enables  you  to 
lift  your  cups  to  your  teeth  without  striking  and  chipping  off 
the  sharp  and  brittle  rims  against  your  harder  teeth! — that 
decision  of  hand  and  intention,  which  makes  you,  instead  of 
lifting  your  scalding  cup  to  your  nose  to  drink,  to  carry  it  to 
your  expecting  rnouth,  and  no  further;  and  that,  too,  at  one 
punctually-performed  movement!  But,  ah!  I  envy  ye  in 
vain;  it  is  "  a  grace  beyond  the  reach  of  art."  A  very  clever 
poet,  in  his  day,  has  said  that  the  gifts  of  reading  and 
writing  corne  through  the  hand  of  nature — so  does  the  gift 
of  drinking  tea  like  a  well-bred  lady-like  gentleman.  Men 
are  born  to  excel  each  other  in  various  ways:  one  man,  who 
shall  "  shake  the  senate  or  the  bench,"  shall  not  handle  a  cup 
of  green  tea  without  shaking  himself;  another,  who  shall 
wield  a  sword  quite  to  the  dissatisfaction  of  the  enemies  of 
his  country,  shall  not  hold  a  silver  spoon  at  a  tea-party  with- 
out disgracing  himself,  losing  all  his  laurels,  and  being  silently 
sneered  at  in  sleeve,  by  all  the  male  butterfly  creatures  that 
usually  perch  and  flutter  about  the  sugar  basins,  and  the 
other  sweets  of  a  tea-table;  another,  who  shall  solve  a  pozer 
problem  in  Euclid,  shall  not  understand  the  mystery  of  a 
muffinet:  so  true  it  is,  that  one  man  is  born  to  handle  a  silver 
tea-spoon,  and  another  a  wooden  soup-ladle. 

The  dreaded  tea-torture  was  served  up,  the  distillation 
being  done  below,  (as  is  usual,  when  the  family  is  not  stingy 
enough  to  suspect  their  honest  domestics  to  be  rogues  in  sugar 
and  souchong,)  and  the  fine  cup  handed  by  the  politest  of  all 
possible  footmen.  Everything  now  went  on  well  till  the 
second  cup.  I  had  borne  the  overflowings  of  the  fir?t  full 
cup  (which,  owing  to  the  unsteadiness  of  my  hand,  dropped 
like  "  minute  drops  from  off  the  eaves,"  scalding  my  knees 
and  legs,)  with  the  patience  of  one  of  Fox's  martyrs;  if  no 
one  observed  it,  no  one  should  have  heard  mention  of  it;  but 
my  severest  trial  was  reserved  for  the  second  cup.  I  was 
raising  it  with  a  faltering  hand  to  my  quivering  lips,  w hen,  all 
at  once,  I  felt  a  something  warm  and  soft  rubbing  against  my 
Teg;  I  paused,  and  looked  down:  it  was  a  black  cat,  who, 
probably,  had  a  penchant  for  silk  Blockings  of  the  same 
colour,  and  was  expressing  her  approbation  of  the  fine  texture 
of  them,  as  I  suppose,  by  rubbing  her  silken  sides  against  my 


310  TALES    OF    OTIIMt    DAYS. 

leg.  Now,  there  are  two  things  which  I  have  a  mortal 
antipathy  to:  the  first  is  sitting  with  five  talkative  Frenchmen 
in  a  small  room,  and  the  second  is  a  black  cat.  No  sooner 
had  I  ascertained  "  the  nature  of  the  beast,"  than,  with  a 
convulsive  start,  I  bounced  back,  chair  and  all,  against  the 
dexter  arm  of  a  footman,  at  that  moment  passing  behind  me 
with  a  replenished  tray.  The  wreck  of  bread  and  butter,  and 
the  crash  of  cups  that  followed,  may  be  imagined,  but  cannot 
be  described.  Suffice  it  to  say,  that  the  cat  was  well 
scalded — the  footman  well  scolded  for  what  he  could  not 
help — and  1  was  well  excused  by  my  friend,  who  declared, 
with  the  most  good-natured  face  in  the  world,  that  my  mother 
had  been  frightened  by  a  black  cat  in  a  muff-box,  when  I  was 
seven  months  in  embryo;  and,  besides,  that  there  was  a 
family  antipathy  to  black  cats — my  mother  being  the  grand- 
daughter of  the  eccentric  Bonnell  Thornton,  of  "  cherry- 
coloured  cat"  memory.  These  well-turned  apologies  saved 
me  so  well,  that  every  person  present  pitied  and  condoled 
me  as  the  unhappy  victim  of  an  hereditary  antipathy,  with  as 
much  real  sympathy  as  if  I  had  been  the  heir  to  a  familv  evil 
by  my  mother's  side,  or  a  chalk-stone  gout  by  the  father's. 
Her  blackness  was  ordered  out  of  the  room,  though  a  silver- 
collared  pet  of  my  young  lady's;  and  the  conversation  turned 
to  the  constitution,  character,  and  domestic  virtues  of  cats  in 
general:  and  here  I  recovered  my  wits  so  far  as  to  join  in  the 
discussion  with  more  vivacity  than  is  my  wont;  for  I  thought 
it  would  be  grateful  in  me,  after  having  given  so  much 
unwilling  pain,  to  give  a  little  willing  pleasure.  Many 
opposing  opinions  were  held  of  the  domestic  virtues  of  cats  of 
all  colours;  and  the  captain  told  us,  in  a  very  vivacious  way, 
that  he  had  a  man  in  his  company  who  had  been  many  times 
flogged  for  an  unfortunate  piece  of  disloyalty — an  unalienable 
attachment  to  French  brandy — and  who  declared  that  he 
never  could  look  at  a  cat  with  one  tail  without  a  painful 
remembrance  of  a  cat  with  nine  tails.  My  fair  wit,  too,  had 
some  inclination  towards  the  belief  of  Pythagoras,  and 
doubted  whether  cats  were  not  metamorphosed  old  maids, 
from  the  attachment  they  displayed  to  those  dowager- 
ppinsters.  Inspired  by  my  hatred  of  cats,  I  was  bold  enough 
to  declare  my  doubts  of  their  virtues  altogether,  and  strongly 
insisted  that  they  were  suspicious,  selfish,  hypocritical,  cruel, 
and  not  to  be  trusted  in  breakfast  parlour,  or  butler's  pantry; 
for  that  they  had  always  their  whiskers  in  the  cream  of  the 
one,  and  their  paws  in  the  butter-coolers  of  the  other. 


THE    AWKWARD    MAN.  811 

*'  They  pretend,"  said  I — with  a  voice  already  growing  sound 
with  self-satisfaction,  and  a  countenance  brightened  up  with 
confidence,  as  1  beheld  the  approving  smiles  of  my  auditors — 
"  they  pretend  attachment  to  man;  but  any  one,  who  knows 
anything  of  men  and  manners,  may  see  that  it  is  all  fudge  and 
mere  hypocrisy,  and  that  attachment  to  themselves  is  the 
real  sentiment  of  their  breasts.  They  affect,  too,  to  be 
domestic;  but  look  at  them  in  summer,  scampering  through 
your  flower-beds  after  butterflies,  and  sneaking  away  from 
bees,  because  they  fear  their  stings;  or  lying  perdue  in  the 
grass,  to  pounce  on  the  harmless  robin,  who  really  loves  man, 
and  puts  his  trust  in  him;  or  else  sleeping  on  the  walls  in  the 
sun,  or  disturbing  the  sleep  of  the  house,  with  their  moonlight 
serenading*,  '  that  make  the  night  hideous,'  and  would  wake 
'  a  soul  under  the  ribs  of  death.'  In  winter,  to  be  sure,  thev 
are  more  in-doors;  and  you  may  alwavs  find  them  very  con- 
tentedly squatting  on  the  rug  before  the  parlour  fire,  because 
there  is  less  of  '  disturbance  rude'  than  they  meet  with  at  the 
kitchen  fire  from  scullion  maid  and  boy,  and  hot  and  kicking 
cook:  disturb  them  with  a  toe  as  gentle  as  that  of  Gayton, 
and  as  considerate  as  that  much  kissed  one  of  Rome,  and 
woe  to  your  silk  stockings!  which  will  undoubtedly  be  rent 
by  their  resentful  claws;  or,  perhaps,  they  conceal  their 
resentful  choler,  as  they  do  their  collar,  under  the  smooth 
silky  coat  of  hypocrisy,  and  only  vent  it,  on  the  sly,  on  your 
friend's  dog,  or  revenge  it  on  the  cold  meat  in  the  pantry, 
after  having  secured  their  own  character  from  'squint  sus- 
picion,' bv  seducing  an  intimate  cat  acquaintance  to  partake 
in  their  dishonesty,  and  then  betraying  him  or  her,  by  swear- 
ing at  her  or  him,  as  if  they  knew  nothing  of  their  old  friend, 
and  bringing  in  the  butler  to  turn  out  the  delinquent  with  the 
usual  ceremony  of  kicks  and  cudgelling  consequent  upon  such, 
detection.  But  let  them  have  their  way,  and  they  will  sit 
all  day,  and  wink  at  the  fire  and  then  at  you,  as  who  would 
say,  '  my  feet  are  extremely  comfortable;'  but  they  do  not 
care  a  mouse's  squeak  for  your  feet,  whether  they  are  hot  or 
cold:  and  now  they  glance  a  green  eye  at  the  brown  toast 
that  stands  before  the  fire,  and  wish  you  would  leave  the 
room  for  a  book  in  the  library;  and  now  they  look  under  the 
grate,  as  the  burning  ashes  drop  there,  ajid  fear  each  coal  to 
be  a  mouse;  and  now  they  purr  and  sing  their  tea-kettle 
balderdash  song,  and  affect  to  be  very  sincerely  attached  to 
your  service,  when,  if  your  neighbour  Jenkins  gave  greater 
board-wages,  they  would  leave  you  at  a  minute's  warning. 


312  TALES    Ot    or  HER    DAVS. 

But  exhaust  the  toast-plate  of  its  contents,  and  give  them 
none  of  it — let  the  fire  go  out,  and  the  room  grow  cold — ami 
then  thev  begin  to  suspect  that  they  hear  a  mouse  squeaking 
in  the  kitchen,  where  there  is  a  good  fire  and  scraps,  or  at 
least  preparations  for  supper  goii.g  on,  and  they  grow  peevish 
as  the  porcupine,  and  '  cry  mew,'  if  the  parlour  door  be  not 
immediately  opened;  nor  will  they  let  you  rest  till  it  be." 
This  lively  anathema  against  the  whole  race  of  Felinas  and 
Toms  was  received,  in  its  progress,  with  many  single  small 
laughs,  which  kept  going  off  at  intervals,  like  those  involun- 
tary or  impatient  guns  that  go  off  before  a  general  volunteer 
volley;  and  when  I  had  concluded,  it  was  declared,  und  vuce, 
to  be  a  true  estimate  of  the  character  of  cats,  as  they  run  in 
these  degenerate  days;  and  all  my  offences  were  so  thoroughly 
redeemed,  that  I  saw  that  there  w  as  a  considerable  balance  in 
my  favour. 

But  this  good  hour  was  not  to  last.  Adam  did  not  long 
remain  in  happiness  in  Paradise,  nor  I  in  the  momentary 
blessedness  of  my  parlour  Eden.  The  servant  had  been 
despatched  below  for  some  purpose  or  other;  and  I,  being 
immediately  over-against  mine  hostess,  was  very  smilingly 
requested  to  succeed  him  in  his  very  pleasant  office  of 
waiting  on  the  ladies!  What  could  have  induced  the  good 
old  lady  to  confer  such  a  distinction  on  me,  "  of  all  men 
else,"  seeing  what  she  had  seen,  I  know  not;  but  it  \vas 
my  fate:  it  showed,  however,  her  forgiveness  of  all  my , 
previous  offences;  and  was,  perhaps,  meant  In  kindness  to 
me — that  I  might,  by  a  short  course  of  such  honourable 
employment,  qualify  myself  for  future  honours.  Oh,  cruel 
kindness!  kind  cruelty!  I  could  not  refuse  (what  "  man  of 
woman  born"  could?)  the  honour  of  serving  a  bevy  of  the 
prettiest  dames  "  in  Christendee."  I  accepted,  therefore, 
with  an  outward  smile  of  satisfaction,  but  an  inward  shrug  of 
chagrin,  an  office  which  I  could  not  refuse,  and  left  mv  seat 
with  the  fearful  plate  of  toast  in  my  tiembling  hand";  and, 
whether  it  was  the  fear  of  its  slipping  from  my  hold,  which 
induced  me  to  pinch  it  too  tightly  wkh  my  finger  and  thumb, 
or  whether  it  was  the  brittleness  of  the  china,  I  know  not, 
but  just  as  I  had  reached  the  first  fair  of  the  circle,  split 
went  the  plate,  and  splash  went  its  well-buttered  contents 
into  the  muslin  lap  of  the  half-shrieking  fair  one,  leaving  me 
the  statue  of  Despair,  convulsively  nipping  the  fragment  of 
the  plate  more  tightly  than  ever,  and  blushing  with  shame 
aud  confusion  as  I  vainly  stammered  out  an  apology  inter- 


THE    AWKWARD    MAN.  313 

rupted  by  more  dashes  and  hiatuses  than  you  will  find  in  ten 
pages  of  Sterne.  My  young  lady  could  not  conceal  her 
chagrin  at  being  so  much  buttered  and  bedaubed,  and  my 
friend  refused  to  interpose  for  me  any  more:  there  could  be 
no  hereditary  antipathy  to  a  plate  of  toast  and  butter.  But 
here  my  fair  wit,  who,  I  verily  believe,  "  loved  me  for  the 
dangers  I  had  undergone,"  as  I  love  her  "  because  she  did 
pity  them,"  saved  me  from  the  frowns  of  the  fair  partner  in 
this  last  dire  accident,  by  wittily  remarking,  that  her  fair 
cousin  was  never  before  toasted  by  any  gallant,  and  she  might 
hope  soon  to  become  "  the  toast  of  the  town."  And  here 
the  reverend  beau  parson,  who  had  been  disappointed  in 
a  promised  living  lately,  said,  very  feelingly,  that  the  plate 
was  china,  and,  like  some  men's  promises,  easily  broken. 
My  friend  could  not  refrain  fiom  laughing  at  me,  and  that 
most  heartily:  as  for  me,  1  could  as  soon  laugh  at  my  lawyer's 
bill  of  costs  in  a  lost  action,  as  have  laughed  then.  The 
scattered  toast  and  china  were,  however,  collected  from  the 
stained  carpet  and  stained  lap  of  the  young  lady,  and  carried 
out  of  the  room;  and,  if  I  had  been  carried  out  of  the  room 
at  the  same  time,  it  would  have  been  a  great  kindness  to  me, 
but  a  greater  to  the  company.  To  increase  the  misfortune, 
too,  the  tea  being  poured  out  into  the  cups,  during  the  time 
occupied  in  preparing  the  duplicate  plate",  it  necessarily 
became  cold  as  the  month:  my  friend,  too,  cruelly  rallied  me 
on  the  subject,  till  I  was  almost  choked  in  endeavouring  to 
suppress  my  choler.  I  persisted,  however,  in  sipping  my  tea, 
to  keep  my  tongue  still,  lest  it  should  upbraid  him;  but  each 
drop  went  down  my  throat  like  cannon-balls  down  the  gullet 
of  an  iron-fed  ostrich:  I  could  not  drink,  but  gulped  it.  down; 
and  this,  if  it  was  observed,  was,  no  doubt,  construed  into 
another  breach  of  good  behaviour:  deeming,  as  they  must 
have  done,  that  I  drank  so  greedily  of  it,  as  to  be  in  danger 
of  strangling  from  my  haste.  A  sudden  storm  is  generallv 
succeeded  by  as  sudden  a  calm;  but  it  was  not  so  with  your 
unfortunate  narrator:  the  raillery  of  my  friend  increased,  and 
threatened  to  overwhelm  me  quite.  Perhaps  he  th'  .ight  by 
this  to  cure  me  of  my  faults;  but  he  might  as  *ell  have 
hoped  to  cure  an  irritable  wound  by  scratching  it  with  a 
goosebury-bush,  or  patch  a  splintered  leg  with  sticking- 
plaster,  or  bind  up  a  broken  heart  with  cobwebs.  My  fair 
friend  still  was  true  to  the  defeated  side,  and  parried  off  his 
snarp  sarcasms  by  entering  into  a  diverting  dissertation  on 
the  brittle  nature  of  china  and  friendship,  in  which  she  gave  him 


314  TALES  OF  OTHER  DAYS. 

some  smart  home-touches  for  his  unfriendly  desertion  of  his 
fallen  friend,  in  every  word  of  which  I  silently  and  perfectly- 
agreed.  In  short,  so  far  and  so  fiercel)  did  my  friend  push 
his  sarcasm  against  me,  that  I  had  much  difficulty  to  persuade 
my  fair  ally  that  he  was  indeed  my  friend,  and  much  more 
to  persuade  myself.  If  I  had  listened  long  to  her  reproaches 
of  him,  I  should  have  forgotten  friendship,  and  listened  only 
to  love,  who  is,  I  am  already  heretic  enough  from  friendship 
to  think,  much  truer  in  heart,  and  considerably  more  elo- 
quent in  speech,  and  amiable  and  endearing  in  manners. 
But,  happily  for  me,  harmony  was  at  length  restored,  though 
"  the  toasted  beauty,"  as  she  was  now  called,  whenever  she 
let  fall  her  eyes  on  her  dress,  stained  and  bespattered  with 
toast  and  butter,  seemed  still  to  be  at  "  doubtful  war"  with 
me  in  her  looks.  I  felt  it,  indeed,  a  wounding  thorn  to  the 
heart  to  be,  but  for  a  moment,  an  object  of  dislike,  or  ol 
disapprobation,  to  a  pretty  girl  of  blooming  eighteen. 

Time  waits  for  no  one.  My  fair  friend  now  left  her  chair, 
at  the  SOV~KJ  of  a  carriage  drawing  to  the  door,  and  the 
entrance  of  a  smart  gentleman  of  the  long  cane,  who  would 
have  done  honour  by  his  appearance  to  my  Lord  Duke's 
rout,  in  "  High  Life  Below  Stairs."  My  gentle  ally  declared 
she  must  retire;  and,  gracefully  complimenting  her  fair  young 
friends,  and  courtesying,  with  the  elegance  of  a  fine  minuetter, 
to  all  the  circle,  and  smiling  graciously  on  me,  she  prepared 
lo  leave  the  room.  And,  at  this  moment,  mine  hostess,  and, 
much  louder,  mine  heart,  whispered  me  to  see  my  best  and 
fairest  friend  to  her  carriage:  at  the  thought,  my  head  grew 
giddy,  and  my  heels  twisted  under  me  in  such  a  lively  man- 
ner, that,  if  it  was  ever  at  any  time  possible  for  a  man  to  turn 
his  back  on  himself,  I  think  I  could  have  accomplished  it  at 
that  time.  But  I  persevered,  as  cowards  often  do,  and 
descended  the  stairs,  with  her  fair  warm  hand  gradually 
freezing,  as  it  were,  in  the  death-like  coldness  of  mine;  for 
my  cowardly  blood  was  I  know  not  where  at  that  time,  and 
I  was  indeed,  as  the  statue  of — I  saw  not  who — that  stood  in 
the  hall.  With  shame  I  now  tell  the  tale:  in  my  extreme 
hurry  to  get  before  the  fair  creature,  to  the  carriage  door, 
(confounded  be  all  narrow  old-fashioned  hall-doors!)  my 
right  foot  got  entangled  in  her  sweeping  train  of  muslin,  more 
delicate  and  chaste,  and  finely-trailing,  than  train  of  the 
strutting  and  consequential  peacock,  which,  in  him,  is  pride 
and  vain  showiness,  but  in  woman,  is  grace  and  modest  con- 
cealment. I  bounded  instantly  off  again,  but,  alas !  alas !  it 


THE    AWKWARD    MAN.  315 

was  to  render  my  situation  the  more  distressing — my  awk- 
wardness the  more  complete;  for,  with  my  left  foot  flew  the 
train,  and  the  sudden  jerk  curtailed  the  dress  of  its  "  fair 
proportions,"  and  left  an  accomplished  lady  as  bob-tailed  as  a 
Welsh  dairy  wench,  or  a  Dutch  frow.  My  ruin  seemed 
inevitable.  She  uttered  not  a  word;  but  her  silence  spoke 
volumes  to  my  ears,  that  tingled  with  the  pricking  red  blood 
of  sudden  shame,  as  hotly  as  if  they  had  been  well  boxed  for 
the  awkwardness  of  their  antipodean  relatives,  my  heels. 
O  fortune!  fortune!  thou  art  the  arrantest  baggage  that  ever 
followed  a  foot  cavalier  to  the  field  of  enterprise !  Like  a 
will-o'-the-wisp,  that  draws  the  unwary  traveller  into  a  ditch, 
and  then,  disappearing,  leavest  him,  in  his  extreme  extremity, 
so  didst  thou  desert  me  in  the  moment  of  need,  and  leave  me 
the  presence  and  prey  of  the  most  enthralling  circumstances 
and  soul-slaughtering  sensations ! 

To  finish  my  catalogue  and  climax  of  miseries,  I  expected 
that  my  fair  friend  would  have  refused  any  further  assistance 
of  mine;  but  she  bore  her  loss  of  train  with  a  philosophy  not 
usually  to  be  found,  even  among  female  philosophers:  she 
absolutely  turned  off  the  accident  with  a  laugh,  and  said,  in 
her  vivacious  way,  that  if  I  would  spare  the  small  train  of 
admirers  which  dangled  after  her  heart,  I  was  welcome  to  cut  off 
the  long  train  which  dangled  after  her  heels:  and,  saying  this, 
she  stepped  into  her  carriage  with  the  grace  of  the  goddess 
of  beauty  into  her  dove-drawn  car,  leaving  me  in  the  air, 
and  in  admiration  of  her  wit  and  womanhood,  and  bound  to 
her  for  her  loving-kindness  as  long  as  my  heart  has  one  fibre 
that  can  cling  about  the  image  of  her  person,  (standing  thus 
as  in  a  holy  shrine  and  ark)  as  the  weak  ivy  clings  about 
the  limbs  of  some  sylvan  sister  of  the  woods,  and  never 
loses  its  hold  till  that  which  should  support  it  and  be  its  living 
stay,  falls  to  the  earth  with  it.  Yet,  though  I  was  pardoned 
by  her,  this  last  vile  accident  did  not  pass  unnoticed  of  the 
,  groom-porter,  and  the  other  servants;  and  I  concluded  that 
I  should  hear  of  it  again,  notwithstanding  their  suppressed 
sniggers,  and  uncorked  giggles,  which  were,  nevertheless, 
oozing  out  at  the  compressed  corners  of  their  mouths,  and 
were,  no  doubt,  exploding  in  all  corners  of  the  hall,  where 
they  could  give  vent  to  their  laughter  with  safety.  And, 
with  these  consoling  assurances,  I  returned  slowly  up  stairs-, 
where  I  had  no  sooner  reappeared,  than  it  was  perceived,  by 
my  cowering  confusion,  that  I  had  been  once  more  involved 
ui  awkwardness;  and  a  buz  ensued,  as  of  a  swarm  of  bees, 


316  TALES  OF  OTHER  DAYS. 

•when  some  unfortunate  traveller,  from  the  firm  of  Honey, 
Wax,  and  Co.,  returns  back  with  broken  wing-  arid  a  beggared 
scrip.  My  very  good  friend  looked  a  very  ingenious  set  of 
queries  at  me,  and  followed  me  with  his  surmising  eye,  till  I 
was  securely  seated  behind  a  wide-branching  candelabra  on 
the  table,  where  I  dodged  him  a  bit,  till  the  breath  of  his 
impatience  was  gone,  and  that  of  mine  was  beginning  to 
chafe  itself  into  an  inward  storm.  After  a  few  minutes  had 
passed  away,  I  mustered  courage  to  say  that  we  must  depart; 
he  took  mv  hint,  for  he  saw  that  I  was  completely  chagrined 
and  discomforted;  and,  with  some  few  of  the  usual  ceremonies, 
and  being  pressed  to  stay,  and  pressing  as  heartily  to  go,  and 
receiving  many  invitations  to  come  again,  we  got  away  with- 
out any  fresh  scrape,  save  a  scrape  of  my  shins  against  the 
pedestal  lamp  at  the  stair-head,  in  sidling  through  the  party, 
who  would  see  us  down;  and,  except  my  saying,  "  Good 

night,  Captain ,"  as  I  took  the  old  lady,  his  mother,  by 

the  elbow  instead  of  the  hand;  and  we  bade  adieu  to  a  circle 
of  pleasant,  intelligent,  kind,  and  accomplished  beinars,  whom, 
though  I  wish,  till  I  grow  old,  to  meet  again,  1  shall  never,  I 
fear,  have  the  courage  again  to  venture  among. 


WHO  CAN  IT  BE? 

ONE  evening,  in  the  summer  of  1827,  as  I  sat  at  my  window, 
which  looks  into  the  northern  court  of  the  University  of 
Glasgow,  I  saw  a  man  walking  backwards  and  forwards,  who 
excited  my  curiosity  in  an  extraordinary  degree.  I  kao\v 
not  why  I  became  so  interested  in  him,  for  .his  person  and 
dress,  though  somewhat  singular,  were  by  no  means  so 
remarkable  as  to  attract  any  very  uncommon  degree  of  notice. 
He  was  a  short  thick  figure,  dressed  in  a  suit  of  black,  \\iih 
a  cocked,  or  rather  three-cornered,  hat  upon  his  head,  and  a 
long  queue  descending  for  some  space  down  his  back.  The 
only  thing  further,  which  it  is  necessary  to  detail,  was  his 
paunch,  which  boasted  of  dimensions  truly  orthodox;  and  his 
nose,  red  and  lumpish,  and  spanned  over  by  a  pair  of  tortoise- 
shell  spectacles,  through  which  he  looked  with  that  pomposity 
of  expression,  which  the  civic  dignitaries  of  all  cities  are  apt 
to  assume,  on  entering  upon  their  authority. 


WHO    CAN    IT    BE?  317 

The  evening1  was  hot,  and  a  glare  of  sickly  light  filled  the 
atmosphere,  which  was  close  and  oppressive.  My  window 
was  in  the  shade,  and  stood  open  for  the  purpose  of  attracting 
as  much  coolness  as  the  air  afforded.  I  had  just  finished 
half  a  bottle  of  port,  after  dining  heartily  on  oysters,  devilled 
fowls,  and  macaroni.  Altogether,  I  was  languid,  heavy,  and 
disposed,  if  not  absolutely  to  sleep,  at  least  to  doze.  My 
whole  frame  was  nervous;  and  the  mind,  sympathizing  with 
the  state  of  its  tenement,  in  a  full  condition  for  dreams, 
nightmares,  and  other  chimeras  of  the  imagination.  Alto- 
gether, I  believe,  I  would  have  slept,  had  not  the  man  with 
the  long  tie  and  tortoise-shell  spectacles  caught  my  obser- 
vation. 

He  was  walking  on  the  opposite,  or  sunny  side  of  the 
court,  and  his  pace  was  sedate  and  orderly.  He  was  evi- 
dently a  person  of  importance,  and  too  well  satisfied  with 
himself  to  increase  his  speed.  No  sooner  did  he  move 
athwart  the  window,  than  the  languid  lids,  which  were  falling 
slowly  over  my  visual  orbs,  were  lifted  up,  and  I  turned  them 
involuntarily  upon  him.  "  That,"  thought  I,  "  is  a  man  who 
would  not  quicken  his  step  one  jot,  to  save  the  College  from 
destruction."  Again  did  1  look  at  him,  and  again  did  I 
behold  the  self-same  consequential  form,  treading  the  sunny 
side  of  the  court.  He  carried  a  stick  in  his  right  hand.  It 
was  not  for  any  ordinary  purpose  that  he  carried  it,  for  it  was 
a  rough  orange  stick,  with  a  brazen  cramp  at  its  lower  extre- 
mity, and  an  embossed  silver  cap  at  its  upper.  Neither  was 
it  to  sustain  him  in  his  perambulations,  for  his  lower  limbs 
were  brawny  and  athletic,  and  made  to  scorn  such  assistances. 
The  use  of  that  stick  must  be — to  support  his  dignity.  Had 
it  been  a  crabstick,  a  hazel  sapling,  a  supplejack,  or  even  an 
oaken  cudgel,  I  could  have  passed  it  by  without  notice;  but 
it  was  none  of  these.  It  was  an  orange  stick,  shod  with 
brass,  and  capped  with  silver;  and,  as  he  walked  along,  he 
struck  its  point  upon  the  earth,  with  a  firmness  which  made 
the  echo  to  resound  through  the  court.  "  It  must  be  to 
support  his  dignity  he  has  that  stick.  No  person  but  one  of 
some  consequence,  would  wear  such  a  baton,  or  walk  with  it 
so  pompously." 

Having  made  these  reflections,  I  closed  my  eyes,  and  tried 
to  fall  into  a  slumber,  but  I  could  not.  I  heard  the  slow 
solemn  pace  of  the  stranger,  as  he  walked  along.  I  heard 
him  well,  for  he  had  creaking  shoes;  and  every  step  he  made 
was  accompanied  with  a  response  from  his  stick,  as  it  struck 
K  E  2 


318  TALES  OF  OTHER  DAYS. 

the  flag-stones  with  its  brazen  extremity.  Up  went  my  eye- 
lids, and,  turning  to  the  sunny  side,  there  did  I  behold  him 
talking  backwards  and  forsvards  as  at  first.  I  looked  at  him 
lor  some  time,  for  I  was  interested  in  the  man.  His  face — 
'it  was  impossible  to  analyze  its  expression.  It  was  plump 
and  rosy.  "  He  must,"  thought  I,  "  be  a  good  liver.  Such 
cheeks,  such  a  nose,  such  a  double  chin,  is  not  to  be  obtained 
for  nothing.  No,  he  understands  living  well;  he  has  read 
Apicius  in  the  original,  and  is,  no  doubt,  familiar  with  Meg 
Dods  and  Kitchiner.  Perhaps  he  is  Kitchiner  himself." 
Unfortunately  for  this  hit,  I  recollected  that  Kitchiner  had 
died  the  month  before.  "  At  any  rate,  he  must  be  a  bon 
vivant,  and  has,  peradventure,  dined  on  oysters,  devilled 
fowls,  and  macaroni,  like  myself.  Who  knows  but  he  may  be 
Doctor  Redgill,  spoken  of  in  '  Marriage,'  or  the  Nabob 
Touchwood,  fresh  from  '  St.  Ronan's  Well?"'  I  looked  at 
him  till  my  eyes  grew  tired,  but  I  could  perceive  no  altera- 
tion in  his  movements  or  appearance.  The  same  step — the 
same  pompous  air — the  same  knocking  on  the  earth  with  his 
baton; — there  was  not  an  atom  of  difference.  "  Verily,  that 
man's  dignity  is  great,"  thought  I,  once  more,  as  I  closed  my 
eyes,  uttered  a  long  yawn,  and  fell  into  a  slumber. 

A  slumber!  it  was  but  the  shadow  of  one — the  reflection 
of  a  dream.  I  was  neither  asleep  nor  awake;  for,  though 
my  eyes  were  sealed  in  oblivion,  my  ears  were  not — and  I 
heard,  as  in  the  depths  of  nightmare,  the  distant  and  confused 
noise  of  the  street,  beyond  the  College  gates — the  voices  of 
fish-women,  the  ticking  of  my  own  time-piece,  and  the  sound 
of  my  own  breath.  All  these  things  I  heard;  but  they  were 
as  nothing  to  the  tread  in  the  court — to  the  creaking  shoes, 
and  brazen-shod  stick  of  the  stranger.  There  was  something 
about  this  man  which  scared  slumber  away, and  I  was  obliged 
to  open  my  eyes,  which  were  once  more  fixed  upon  him  with 
increased  curiosity. 

I  could  not  understand  it.  There  was,  apparently,  nothing 
remarkable  about  the  man.  He  was  clothed  in  black,  it  is 
true,  and  had  a  three-cornered  hat,  a  long  queue,  and  tortoise- 
shell  spectacles.  Well,  and  what  then  ?  are  not  many  men 
clothed  in  black,  and  do  not  some  wear  three-cornered  hats, 
long  queues,  arid  tortoise-shell  spectacles  ?  Then,  to  extri- 
cate myself  from  this  dilemma,  1  called  the  orange  stick  to 
my  assistance,  and  endeavoured  to  extract  from  it  something 
sufficiently  marvellous  to  account  for  my  curiosity — then  the 
pompous  gait  of  its  bearer,  then  his  creaking  shoes — and 


WHO    CAN    IT    BE?  319 

lastly,  his  rosy  physiognomy.  It  would  not  do.  There  was 
nothing  odd  in  any  of  them.  What,  then,  was  there  about 
tne  man  to  attract  my  notice  so  irresistibly  ?  Apparently, 
there  was  nothing,  and  yet  there  must  be  something — for  it 
was  clear  that  rny  notice  had  been  irresistibly  attracted. 

"  Who  can  it  be?"  This  was  the  first  problem  which  it 
was  imperative  to  solve.  I  had  already  found  that  he  could 
not  be  Kitchiner,  seeing  that  this  worthy  gastronome  was 
dead.  Then  Doctor  Redgill  and  Touchwood  came  in 
review;  but,  without  knowing  anything  of  the  persons  of  these 
gentlemen,  I  arrived  somehow  at  the  conclusion,  that  it 
could  not  be  any  of  them.  "  He  must  be  a  contributor  to 
Blackwood,  and  certainly  a  celebrated  one.  Perhaps  he  is 
Christopher  North:  but  no — he  is  not  old  enough  for  that; 
or  Timothy  Tickler — but  he  is  not  tall  enough.  He  cannot 
be  Hogg,  no — nor  O'Doherty — that  is  evident;  nor  can  he 
be  Delta — for  he,  I  am  told,  is  a  tall  young  man,  with  light 
hair.  He  is,  perhaps,  Ebony  himself;  yes,  he  is  Ebony. 
But  no — confound  it — he  can't  be  that  either,  for  Ebony 
neither  wears  a  .three-cornered  hat,  nor  has  he  a  long  queue." 

In  this  manner  did  I  cogitate,  while  the  important  subject 
of  my  meditations  walked  opposite,  apparently  unconscious 
of  my  presence.  There  was — 1  love  to  repeat  it — an  air  of 
awful  dignity  about  him.  It  was  clear  that  he  was  a  man  of 
importance,  or,  what  is  the  same  thing,  thut  he  thought  him- 
self one.  Nor  did  this  look  of  profound  dignity  seem  to 
diminish,  as  I  gazed  upon  it.  On  the  contrary,  its  influence 
increased.  Every  minute  the  person  rose  in  my  estimation; 
and  I  became  certain  that  he  must  be  one  of  the  great  men 
of  the  earth. 

Nor  was  my  admiration  confined  to  his  person  alone: 
there  was  something  interesting  in  his  very  habiliments. 
"  That  three-cornered  hat,"  I  thought,  "  is  such  as  Raymond 
Lully,  or  Erasmus,  must  have  worn.  There  is  something 
antique  in  its  cut,  and  it  could  only  fit  the  sconce  of  a  man  of 
genius !"  I  now  began  to  conjecture  who  could  have  made 
it;  and,  I  very  believe,  that  had  it  been  at  that  moment  in 
the  market,  1  would  have  given  as  much  for  it,  as  for  the 
wishing-cap  of  Fortunatus.  My  cogitations  descended  from 
the  cocked-hat  to  the  walking-stick.  While  looking  upon  it, 
1  called  to  mind  the  rod  of  Moses,  and  the  wand  of  Esculapius. 
It  was  none  of  your  vulgar,  ill-natured  crabsticks — none  of 
your  hazel  staffs.  It  was  an  orange  stem,  probably  of 
Seville,  or  Montpellier  growth:  perhaps  St.  Michael,  or 


320  TALES  OF  OTHER  DAYS. 

Jamaica  produced  it.  Nor  was  the  coat  of  this  mysterious 
man  less  worthy  of  observation.  Stultze  made  it  not;  he 
never  made  such  a  coat.  It  was  a  goodly  garment,  of  noble 
dimensions,  and  buttoned  with  ample  swell  over  the  circum- 
ference of  his  lordly  paunch.  There  was  an  air  of  knowing, 
ness  about  it — something  of  erudition.  The  tailor  who  con- 
trived it  must  have  been  a  grave  and  learned  man — not  the 
ninth  part  of  humanity — not  a  fraction  of  his  species,  as  tailors 
from  time  immemorial  have  been  known  to  be.  What  a  mass 
of  dignity  is  contained  within  its  embrace!  Elijah's  mantle 
must  have  been  somewhat  like  this.  Were  it  mine,  I  would 
not  exchange  it  for  the  pontifical  robes,  nor  for  the  purple  of 
Caesar  himself.  Lastly,  his  nether  garments,  compassing  in 
their  colossal  volume  so  glorious  a  rotundity  of  thigh!  Hea- 
vens! such  a  pair  of  unmentionables!  Were  they  mine,  I  would 
cause  them  to  be  handed  down  as  an  heir-loom  to  rny  family, 
even  till  the  latest  generations.  Breeches! — yes,  the  word 
sounds  hard  to  polished  ears — that  man,  I  will  be  bold  to  say, 
\vears  his  own,  and  is  most  assuredly — not  henpecked. 

Never  was  I  so  interested  in  any  being;  but  human  inte- 
rest will  flag  at  times,  and  the  mind  must  now  and  then  give 
way  to  the  dictates  of  the  body.  In  the  midst  of  my  medita- 
tions a  renewed  languor  came  over  me,  my  eyes  closed  in- 
voluntarily, as  if  I  sat  in  an  atmosphere  of  poppy  or  night- 
shade; my  hands  fell  powerless  into  my  lap,  and  I  lay  back  in 
the  chair  with  my  mouth  half  open,  and  my  whole  spirit 
absorbed  in  one  mysterious  perplexity.  I  know  not  whether 
it  could  be  called  sleep:  if  it  was,  never  did  slumber  come 
down  upon  the  soul  in  more  quaint  and  fantastic  fashion.  I 
had  a  perfect  consciousness  of  what  was  going  on,  and  yet  I 
could  not  move  nor  take  any  part  in  it.  I  felt  the  glow  ot 
the  evening  sun,  as  it  warmed  my  frame  with  its  sultry  breath; 
I  heard  my  clock  ticking,  and  the  noise  of  flies  buzzing  and 
fluttering  around  me;  and  now  and  then  felt  them  settling  with 
annoying  pertinacity  upon  my  nose  and  forehead. 

But  a  truce  to  such  sounds  as  those  of  buzzing  flies  and 
time-pieces.  There  was  one  sound,  not  perhaps  more  loud 
than  these,  which  yet  drowned  them  in  the  magnificence  of 
its  moral  loudness,  and  in  its  effect  upon  the  mind.  I  allude 
to  the  tread  of  the  man  with  the  long  queue  and  tortoise-shell 
•spectacles.  He  was  still  at  work,  pacing  the  court  with  slow 
and  solemn  dignity.  I  knew  it,  though  I  saw  him  not.  I 
knew  it,  though  well-nigh  asleep;  for  I  heard  the  creak — 
creak — creak  — of  his  measured  step,  and  the  no  less  monoto- 


WHO    CAN    IT    BE?  321 

nous  tick — tick — tick — of  his  brazen-shod  baton,  responding 
to  the  music  of  his  feet.  I  continued  in  this  state  of  dozing 
somnolency  for  fifteen  minutes,  and  was  aroused  from  it  by  my 
clock  striking  the  hour  of  seven.  During  my  half-slumber, 
I  was  in  a  state  of  fascination,  from  which  I  found  it  impos- 
sible to  liberate  myself.  I  was  in»a  trance:  an  incubus  hung 
equally  upon  my  body  and  spirit;  and  the  sounding  of  the 
seventh  hour  seemed  as  the  voice  of  a  good  angel,  command- 
ing the  spell  by  which  I  was  fettered  to  depart. 

I  awoke,  opened  my  eyes,  yawned,  stretched  myself,  and 
looked  out.  The  man  was  still  there.  Zounds!  I  never 
doubted  it!  Who  but  himself  could  produce  the  tread  I  have 
been  describing?  Whose  stick  but  his  could  beat  the  ground 
with  such  dignity?  Upon  my  honour, the  man  was  still  there! 
By  accurate  computation,  he  had  walked  forty-five,  ay,  fifty 
minutes.  He  had  gone  all  this  time  in  the  sun,  too — on  the 
sunny  side  of  the  court,  be  it  remembered — when  the  ther- 
mometer stood  at  eighty.  I  formerly  wondered  who  he  could 
be:  I  now  began  to  marvel  what  he  wanted.  Judging  from 
his  gait,  he  was  surely  a  great  man;  and  it  was  only  rational 
to  suppose  he  had  come  on  some  great  occasion.  "  He  must 
be  one  of  the  commissioners,"  thought  I,  "  appointed  by  the 
king  to  examine  the  state  of  the  Scottish  Universities,  and  is 
doubtless  here  upon  his  commission.  Which  of  them  can  it 
be? — let  me  think.  The  Earl  of  Aberdeen  is  one,  and  so  is 
the  Earl  of  Lauderdale;  but  it  is  neither  of  them.  Lord 
Melville  is  another,  as  likewise  the  Lord  President."  It 
would  not  do;  these  noblemen  were  all  of  the  commissioners 
whose  names  I  recollected,  and  unluckily  I  knew  them  all  by 
sight.  Had  there  been  any  one  of  them  with  whose  appear- 
ance 1  was  unacquainted,  I  would  have  fixed  upon  the  stranger 
as  him,  beyond  a  doubt.  I  now  began  to  recollect  that  sundry 
learned  men  from  Germany  were  shortly  expected  at  our 
colleges:  amona;  others,  Gall  and  Spurzheirn,  and  the  cele- 
brated Doctor  Dedimus  Dunderhead,  of  whom  honourable 
mention  has  been  made  in  my  "  Metempsychosis."  For  Gall, 
the  man  was  too  young;  for  Spurzheirn,  he  was  too  short;  for 
Doctor  Dunderhead,  he  was  neither  old  enough  nor  short 
enough,  although  in  other  respects  he  closely  resembled  that 
eminent  professor.  At  last  the  idea  struck  me  that  he  must 
be  Doctor  Scott  the  Odontist,  or  Professor  Leslie,  when  the 
pigtail,  descending  beneath  his  three-cornered  hat,  demon- 
strated how  much  I  was  mistaken.  That  eternal  queue  was 
\\ic  stumblingblock  to  all  my  surmises.  I  knew  nobody  that 


322  TALES  OF  OTHER  DAYS. 

wore  a  queue  but  the  Duke  of  Hamilton,  and  his  Grace  could 
not  for  one  moment  be  mistaken  for  the  man — nor  the  man 
for  his  Grace. 

The  more  I  reflected  on  the  subject,  the  greater  my  per- 
plexity became.  I  had  still  a  strong  inclination  to  sleep,  but 
I  combated  it  for  the  sake  of  unravelling  the  secret.  Mean- 
while the  stranger  continued  his  pace.  He  went  like  a  horse 
in  a  gin,  only  his  course  was  backwards  and  forwards,  instead 
of  being  round  about;  nor,  in  the  whole  of  his  walk,  did  he 
abate  one  jot  of  his  dignity.  He  still  preserved  the  same 
pompous,  consequential  step  which  had  first  attracted  my 
notice — carrying  his  head  as  high  as  ever,  looking  as  proudly 
through  his  spectacles,  and  placing  his  baton  with  unmitigated 
firmness  upon  the  earth.  Altogether,  there  was  a  mystery 
about  the  man,  which  I  would  have  given  the  half  of  what  I 
was  worth  to  be  acquainted  with. 

I  have  spoken  of  his  person,  of  his  dress,  and  of  his  gait, 
and  have  descanted  upon  them  with  sufficient  copiousness; 
but  there  were  some  other  things  which  there  was  no  resisting 
the  wish  to  know.  I  had  already  settled  the  point  that  he 
was  a  bon  vivant:  his  amplitude  of  paunch  and  claret  com- 
plexion established  this  beyond  a  doubt.  "  He  is  probably," 
I  thought,  "  fond  of  roast  beef  not  overdone,  and  of  beefsteak 
cooked  a  tAnylaise.  That  he  likes  a  draught  of  London 
porter  alter  dinner  is,  I  should  think,  likely;  that  he  likes 
wine  is  certain;  spirits  I  do  not  believe  he  cares  much  about. 
What  kind  of  sviue  does  he  prefer — Claret,  Malaga,  or  Hermi- 
tage? Neither.  These  are  too  watery  and  Frenchified  for 
the  rich  current  of  his  blood.  Old  Port  and  Madeira  are  his 
favourites,  take  my  word  for  it.  Talking  of  politics,  the  man 
is  a  Tory.  His  air  is  too  lordly  and  aristocratic  for  Whig- 
gism,  which  he  would  blow  to  the  earth  with  the  breath  of 
his  nostrils." 

For  more  than  fifty  minutes  had  he  by  this  time  paced  the 
opposite  side  of  the  court,  and  the  circumstance  of  his  being 
a  bon  vivant  was,  I  must  repeat  it,  in  reality  the  only  fact  I 
had  discovered  about  him.  The  other  surmises  might  be 
right,  or  they  might  be  wrong.  He  might  be  Touchwood,  or 
Redgill,  or  one  of  the  University  commissioners,  for  anything 
I  knew  to  the  contrary.  I  was  going  to  repeat,  that  he 
might  be  Doctor  Scott;  but  no — his  pigtail  set  that  for  ever 
at  rest. 

Could  he  be  a  bailie?  It  was  possible,  for  he  possessed 
much  of  the  awful  dignity  which  characterizes  these  function- 


WHO    CAN    IT    BE?  323 

Rrics;  his  paunch,  his  step,  the  air  with  which  he  looked 
through  the  glasses  of  his  spectacles — all  were  magisterial. 

A  Methodist  preacher?  Impossible.  If  he  be  a  preacher  at 
all,  he  must  be  a  bishop  or  a  cardinal.  That  important  look, 
that  air  of  condition,  that  atmosphere  of  good  living  which 
floats  around  him,  cannot  savour  of  the  sour,  lank,  vinegar 
aspect  of  Methodism. 

A  lawyer?  A  moment's  thought  convinced  me  that  I  was 
again  at  fault.  What  lawyer  ever  possessed  such  a  lordly 
bearing,  such  a  consciousness  of  superiority,  and  such  freedom 
from  care  and  calculation  as  reposes  in  the  expression  of  that 
face? 

A  physician?  The  very  idea- savoured  of  absurdity.  The 
time-serving  smile,  the  insinuating  address,  of  the  practitioners 
of  physic,  were  wanting  in  his  bold  pompous  front.  The  man 
was  too  full  of  his  own  importance  to  undertake  the  task  of 
wedging  himself  into  the  graces  of  the  sick. 

A  quaker?     Fudge! 

What  then,  in  the  name  of  miracle,  was  he?  It  was  im- 
possible to  tell;  and  I  tortured  my  brain  for  no  purpose,  in 
the  vain  endeavour  to  solve  the  difficulty.  All  I  could  ascer- 
tain to  my  own  satisfaction,  was  the  profession  to  which  he 
actually  did — not  belong;  and,  that  he  neither  appertained  to 
the  tribe  of  lawyers,  doctors,  quakers,  nor  methodists,  was  as 
clear  as  mathematical  demonstration  could  make  it. 

"  I  must  discover  him.  There  is  something  about  the  man, 
which  cannot  be  allowed  to  remain  in  obscurity;  and,  if  I  die 
the  moment  after,  I  shall  have  the  secret  out  of  him."  Such 
were  rny  determinations,  and  I  resolved  to  hit  upon  some 
plan  to  effect  the  purpose.  But  what  plan  could  I  adopt? 
Could  I  ask  him  his  name  and  business? — it  was  impossible  to 
take  such  liberty  with  so  awe-inspiring  a  personage.  Who 
knows  but  he  might  read  me  a  lecture  from  the  Philippics  of 
Demosthenes,  and  send  me  quailing  back  beneath  the  light- 
ning of  his  eloquence?  I  could  not  doubt  that  he  was  a  great 
orator.  Notwithstanding  the  overpowering  dignity  of  his 
demeanour,  it  was  possible  he  might  descend  to  sarcasm  and 
rebuke,  to  punish  impertinence.  Who  knows  if  he  would  even 
be  above  applying  his  stick  to  my  unfortunate  numskull? 

These  reflections  had  their  due  weight  in  deterring  me 
from  so  hazardous  an  experiment;  but  while  they  deterred 
me,  they  also  excited  my  curiosity  to  the  highest  pitch.  The 
desire  for  information  augmented  with  the  difficulty  of*  pro- 
curing it.  I  no  longer  sat  like  a  fixture  at  the  window:  my 


324  TALES    OF    OTHER    DAYS. 

agitation  was  too  great  to  admit  of  so  sedentary  a  position, 
and  I  got  up  in  a  paroxysm  of  intense  anxiety,  and  walked 
about  the  room — rummaging  every  nook  of  my  brain  to  find 
out  some  way  of  coining  at  the  object  in  view.  1  was  literally 
haunted — I  could  not  drive  the  strange  man  from  my  head. 
If  I  looked  out,  I  saw  him  walking  with  my  bodily  eye:  it'  I 
turned  away,  I  beheld  him  equally  well  with  the  eye  of  the 
mind.  Nor  did  the  sound  of  his  footsteps  for  a  moment 
escape  me.  I  heard  them  creaking  upon  the  court,  accom- 
panied by  the  attendant  and  ghost-like  responses  of  the  ever- 
lasting walking-stick. 

My  anxiety  at  last  attained  such  a  pitch,  that  I  verily  be- 
lieve I  should  have  died  upon  the  spot,  if  a  copious  flood  of 
tears  had  not  come  to  my  relief.  "Can  nothing  be  done?" 
said  I,  weeping  bitterly.  "  Must  I  remain  in  ignorance  of 
this  extraordinary  man?  who  is  he — what  does  he  want — is 
he  Whig  or  Tory — does  he  drink  Port  in  preference  to 
Malaga  or  Hermitage — has  he  dined,  like  myself,  on  oysters 
and  macaroni — does  he  write  for  Blackwood  ?"  Such  were 
the  questions  that  crowded  on  my  imagination;  but,  alas! 
there  was  no  one  to  answer  them  but  the  man  himself — with 
the  tortoise-shell  spectacles  and  the  \ougqtieue!  What  could 
I  do?  I  was  ashamed  and  afraid  to  put  them  to  him.  Good 
breeding  and  caution  alike  forbade  so  extraordinary  a  pro- 
ceeding. In  this  dilemma  I  threw  myself  upon  the  sofa,  and 
buried  my  tear-bedewed  face  in  one  of  the  pillows,  while  I 
sobbed  like  the  child  who  broke  its  heart  because  its  nurse 
conld  not  give  it  the  moon  as  a  plaything. 

But  I  did  not  long  give  way  to  idle  sorrow.  Resentment 
/took  its  place,  and  inspired  my  heart  with  deadly  energy.  I 
felt  myself  insulted  by  the  stranger.  "  He  must  be  a  villain," 
I  exclaimed,  in  the  bitterness  of  my  soul,  "  thus  to  tamper 
with  the  agonies  of  a  fellow  being.  Notwithstanding  his 
dignity,  he  is  neither  more  nor  less  than — a  villain."  Would 
it  be  believed  that  in  so  short  a  time  1  threw  away  all  my  late 
feelings  of  reverence  and  admiration?  But  the  human  heart 
is  a  strange  piece  of  mechanism,  which  is  constantly  getting 
into  disorder,  and  turning  disloyally  upon  itself.  From  the 
bottom  of  my  spirit,  I  thought  him  a  villain,  whom  1  had  just 
wondered  at,  and  reverenced,  and  admired.  "  Yes7  he  is 
neither  more  nor  less.  He  has  haunted  me  till  rny  brain 
borders  on  distraction.  He  shall  account  for  himself: — by 
Heaven!  he  shall  tell  me  who  he  is."  My  mind  was  wrought 
to  a  pitch  of  frenzied  excitement — anger  lent  rue  courage — 


THE    ROBBER    9PATOT.INO.  32.5 

insatiable  curiosity  led  me  on;  and  I  determined  either  to 
make  him  open  his  oracular  lips  and  reveal  himself,  or  to  join 
with  him  in  mortal  death-grapple.  Full  of  these  terrible  reso- 
lutions, I  put  on  my  hat,  buttoned  my  coat,  set  my  teeth,  and 
descended  the  stair  with  portentous  speed.  On  reaching  the 
front  door  I  paused  a  few  seconds  before  opening  it,  to  rally 
my  ideas  and  collect  my  energies  into  one  powerful  focus. 
This  done,  I  opened  the  door,  stepped  into  the  court,  and 
looked  around  me.  Horrible  to  relate — the  man  was  gone, 
and  I  never  saw  him  more ! 


THE  ROBBER   SPATOLINO. 

STEPHEN  SPATOLINO  was  born  at  Frosenone,  in  the  year  1775; 
his  parents  were  peasants,  and  had  been  extremely  persecuted 
by  the  owners  of  the  land  they  occupied,  moistening  with 
their  tears  the  black  bread  on  which  they  subsisted.  Stephen 
inherited  by  nature  a  violent  and  ferocious  temper:  young  as 
ne  was,  he  manifested  a  sense  of  deep  sorrow  on  beholding 
the  deplorable  state  of  his  parents,  brought  on  by  the  avarice 
and  inhumanity  of  the  proprietor  of  their  farm.  It  occurred 
that  the  landlord  had  sent  to  exact  money  from  his  parents 
by  means  of  the  police,  and  this  act  of  violence  being  con- 
summating, the  son,  Spatolino,  irritated  at  the  oppression  of 
his  parents,  sprang  into  the  middle  of  the  executioners  of  the 
landlord's  will,  with  a  knife  in  his  hand,  and  exercised  his 
vengeance  on  them:  although  only  fifteen  years  of  age,  no 
one  resisted  him  successfully.  Two  persons  were  killed  on 
the  spot,  and  the  landlord's  son  severely  wounded.  A  crowd 
collected,  the  armed  force  of  the  country  repaired  to  the 
spot,  and  Spatolino  was  arrested,  but,  on  account  of  his  youth, 
was  not  condemned  to  death;  he  was  sentenced  by  the 
criminal  tribunal  to  the  galleys  for  fifteen  years,  and,  a  few 
days  after  his  condemnation,  was  sent  to  Civita  Vecchia  to 
suffer  the  penalty.  Very  little  time  had  elapsed,  when  he 
received  an  injury  from  a  comrade  who  was  chained  to  him: 
not  having  arms,  he  inflicted  so  many  blows  and  kicks  as  to 
leave  him  half  dead;  and,  had  not  the  guards  come  to  his 
assistance,  would  certainly  have  killed  him.  His  strength  at 
F  P 


32G  TALES  OF  OTHER  DAYS. 

that  age  was  the  strength  of  a  strong  man  in  the  prime  of 
life.  Spatolino  was  severely  punished,  and,  not  being  able 
to  avensre  himself,  became  outrageous,  for  which  reason  he 
was  sent  to  the  Dock  of  Porto  D'Anzo.  Finding  this  to  be 
a  worse  situation  than  the  former,  he  was  exceedingly 
enraged;  but  at  last  endeavoured,  by  assuming  an  air  of 
superiority,  to  make  himself  feared,  and  even  esteemed,  by 
his  companions.  In  a  short  time  the  guards  and  overseers 
besran  to  respect  him;  and,  although  the  youngest  in  the 
prison,  the  superintendent  gave  him  an  authority  to  overlook 
the  work  performed  by  the  convicts.  His  presence  was 
sufficient  to  put  a  stop  to  any  contention  amongst  them. 
Spatolino,  if  he  found  them  refractory,  immediately  chastised 
them.  His  manners,  his  courage  and  assiduity  in  effecting 
whatever  was  required  of  him,  as  also  his  youth,  ensured  him 
the  protection  of  the  president  of  the  legion  of  convicts  for 
the  Porto  D'Anzo;  who  not  only  exempted  him  from  labour, 
but  named  him  Barberotto,  that  is,  sergeant  of  the  galley 
slaves.  He  was  empowered  to  overlook  their  work,  to  ob- 
serve who  were  the  most  active,  and  to  punish  the  idle. 
There  was  in  Porto  D'Anzo  a  young  Egyptian  woman,  whom 
a  seaman,  having  been  to  Egypt  with  the  expedition  com- 
manded by  Napoleon,  had  seduced  from  that  country.  The 
seaman  forming  an  acquaintance  with  her,  became  enamoured 
of  her,  and  the  poor  deluded  creature,  not  knowing  how  to 
effect  her  flight  from  Egypt,  on  account  of  her  parents,  was 
persuaded  to  take  all  they  had,  and  afterwards  murder  them; 
which  piece  of  barbarity  being  effected  in  the  night,  they 
escaped  together.  A  short  time  after  the  seaman  had  been 
in  Civita  Vecchia  being  a  married  man,  he  abandoned  this 
unhappy  woman,  leaving  her  a  prey  to  the  greatest  misery,  and 
forgetting  what  she  had  sacrificed  for  his  love.  The  governor, 
pitying  her,  caused  her  to  be  instructed  in  the  tenets  of  the 
Catholic  religion,  and  baptized  under  the  name  of  Mary;  but 
having  concluded  this  pious  act,  he  never  thought  of  affording 
her  a  pension  for  her  maintenance,  conceiving  that  making 
her  a  Catholic  was  sufficient.  Not  finding  anything  to  do  in 
Civita  Vecchia,  she  determined  on  proceeding  to  Porto 
D'Anzo,  and  endeavouring  to  earn  a  living,  it  being  at  the 
time  of  reconstructing  the  port — a  period  when  employment 
was  not  a  matter  of  difficult}'  to  obtain.  Mary,  who  was  a 
good  cook  in  her  own  country,  began  to  try  her  success  by 
preparing  a  few  dishes  and  selling  them  to  the  galley-slaves 
who  worked  in  the  port;  she  also  began  to  make  pilaffe,  alter 


THE    ROBBER    SPATOLINO.  327 

the  Turkish  manner;  by  which  means,  in  a  short  time,  she 
gained  the  good-will  of  all  the  slaves,  more  particularly  of 
Spatolino,  who  became  quite  familiar,  and  daily  went  to  eat 
with  her;  hi  return  for  which,  Mary  never  would  receive 
payment,  and  was  induced,  by  his  friendship,  to  confide  to 
him  her  history.  Spatolino  was  rejoiced  to  find  she  possessed 
so  firm  a  spirit,  and  immediately  made  her  proposals  of  mar- 
riage, which  were  accepted  without  a  moment's  hesitation. 
They  asked  permission  to  marry,  of  the  president  of  the 
dock-yard;  who,  considering  that  Spatolino  did  his  duty, 
granted  it;  and  the  time  of  his  transportation  being  expired, 
(in  the  year  1810,  a  remarkable  era  in  Rome,  for  the  whole 
of  the  State,  and  for  the  abduction  of  the  Pope,  decreed  by 
Napoleon,)  he  left  the  galleys,  to  the  regret  of  the  president 
and  all  the  keepers.  Spatolino,  the  second  day  of  his  eman- 
cipation, while  walking  about  the  country  in  the  neighbour- 
hood of  Porto  D'Anzo,  observed  posted  upon  the  highway, 
the  bulls  of  excommunication  issued  by  Pius  VII.  against 
the  Emperor  Napoleon,  and  all  who  had  occupied  the  States 
of  the  Church,  accepted  employment  under,  or  associated 
with,  the  French.  Reflecting  on  this,  he  felt  convinced  that 
the  French,  as  usurpers  and  excommunicated  beings,  might 
be  slaughtered  without  scruple,  and  therefore  determined  on 
avenging  the  wrongs  of  his  sovereign.  He  now  proceeded  to 
Rome  with  his  wife,  there  to  consider  what  ulterior  measures 
he  should  adopt. 

The  morning  of  the  6th  of  July  arrived — a  day  of  great 
confusion:  the  French  having  caused  the  walls  of  the  papal 
palace  to  be  scaled  by  a  party  of  gens-d'armes,  under  thr 
orders  of  General  Raded;  who,  having  reached  the  chamber 
of  the  pope,  without  any  respect  for  his  person,  hurried  him 
away.  The  ignorant  people  of  Rome  saw  this  with  indigna- 
tion, and  believed  that  all  the  French  were  excommunicated, 
because  they  considered  the  pope  as  a  mere  man,  instead  of 
a  God  upon  earth;  to  doubt  which  was,  in  their  eyes,  a 
sacrilege. 

It  was  rumoured  abroad  that  the  pope  was  clad  in  his 
pontifical  robes;  that  he  departed  bearing  the  crucifix  in  one 
hand,  and  the  breviary  in  the  other.  Horror  took  possession 
of  Rome,  and  the  heart  of  Spatolino  burned  with  revenge. 
He  assembled  a  few  associates,  among  whom  were  two  of  his 
cousins,  and  communicated  to  them  his  views,  which  were,  to 
proceed  with  a  resolution  of  killing  every  Frenchman  thev 
might  meet,  as  the  cause  of  the  ruin  of  Rome  and  the  Papal 
16 


328  TALES  OF  OTHER  DAYS. 

States.  The  companions  of  Spatolino  approved  of  his  plan, 
and,  hearing  of  the  persecution  of  the  Sacred  College,  they 
procured  such  arms  as  they  required,  and,  departing  from 
Rome,  posted  themselves  among  the  hills,  where  they  hoped 
to  be  secure,  and  still  in  a  convenient  position  for  prosecuting 
their  design. 

Spatolino  was  of  low  stature,  long  visage,  fair  skin,  but  his 
face  of  an  olive  pale  hue;  his  eyes  of  a  light  blue,  and  full  of 
animation;  his  aspect  fierce;  hair  light;  long  whiskers;  lips 
pale;  broad  back;  swift  of  foot,  and  particularly  animated  in 
his  action.  He  wore  a  jerkin  lined  with  red,  a  dark  yellow 
waistcoat,  blue  breeches,  a  breast-pouch  with  fifty  cartridges, 
four  pistols,  and  a  small  hanger  by  his  side.  In  his  breeches- 
pocket  he  kept  a  small  stiletto.  He  also  bore  a  long  gun. 
On  his  head  he  wore  continually  a  net,  and  upon  that  his  hat. 
His  wife  followed  him  in  all  his  excursions,  and  he  greatly 
esteemed  and  loved  her.  He  remained  some  time  in  the 
mountains  near  Rome,  and  with  his  associates  laid  in  a  store 
of  whatever  was  necessary  for  their  new  avocation.  He 
then  resolved  upon  proceeding  to  Sonnino,  the  common 
rendezvous  of  the  greater  part  of  the  banditti  in  the  Papal 
States.  In  Sonnino  he  found  some  followers,  who,  going 
deeply  into  his  notions,  did  not  scruple  to  join  him.  They 
swore  to  entertain  an  eternal  friendship  for  'each  other, 
implacable  hatred  against  the  French,  and  laid  it  down  as  a 
duty  to  rob  and  kill  them.  Spatolino,  before  commencing 
his  career  as  brigand,  repaired  to  the  Curate  of  Sonnino,  and 
requested  absolution  for  all  the  crimes  he  had  or  might 
commit;  the  curate,  surprised  at  this  request,  observed  to  him 
that  absolution  was  only  given  after  sins  were  committed. 
Spatolino  very  soon  quieted  the  scruples  of  the  curate,  by 
making  him  a  present  of  a  very  handsome  watch;  upon  which 
he  immediately  raised  his  hands,  and  gave  him  the  desired 
absolution.  Sonnino  may  be  compared  with  Pontus,  where 
Ovid  was  in  exile,  and  w  hich  is  thus  described  by  that  cele- 
brated author: — "  The  men  I  meet  with  are  not  even  worthy 
of  the  name;  they  are  more  fierce  than  wolves;  have  no 
laws,  as  with  them  armed  force  constitutes  justice,  and  injury 
rights.  They  live  by  rapine,  but  seek  it  not  without  peril, 
and  sword  in  hand.  Every  other  way  of  purveying  for  their 
necessities  thev  view  as  base  and  ignominious.  It  is  enough 
for  them  to  be  seen,  to  be  hated  and  dreaded.  The  sound  of 
their  voice  is  ferocious;  their  physiognomy  horrible,  and 
their  complexion  cadaverous."  Just  such  are  the  inhabitants 


THE    ROBBER    SPATOLINO.  329 

of  Sonnino  and  its  vicinity  at  present,  and  among  such 
Spatolino  came  to  complete  his  band,  which,  when  formed  in 
Rome,  consisted  of  seven  only.  Before  proceeding  on  his 
expedition,  and  to  attach  his  wife  more  closely  to  his  person, 
by  proving  his  strong  affection,  he  left  his  band  and  pro- 
ceeded to  Civita  Vecchia,  and,  seeking  the  sailor  who  had 
seduced  her,  he  expressed  a  wish  to  speak  with  him  a  little 
distance  from  the  town.  The  sailor,  conceiving  it  might  be 
something  to  his  advantage,  followed  immediately.  Spato- 
lino conducted  him  a  little  beyond  the  gate  of  Civita  Vecchia, 
and,  giving  him  two  thrusts  of  his  stiletto  in  his  heart,  cut  oft 
his  ears  and  nose,  to  carry  them  as  a  present  to  his  wife,  and 
then  departed  immediately  for  Sonnino.  On  his  arrival,  he 
proceeded  to  seek  Mary  and  h'is  band.  After  the  usual 
salutations,  he  took  out  of  his  pocket  the  small  bundle  con- 
taining the  nose  and  ears  of  the  sailor,  and,  presenting  them 
to  his  wife,  said,  "  From  this  you  may  judge  my  affection. 
I  was  desirous  of  avenging  your  wrongs,  and  have  done  so 
by  killing  your  seducer.  Here  are  the  pledges  of  it,  which 
you  should  keep,  in  order  to  remind  you  of  the  betrayer,  and 
as  a, guard  against  future  temptation.  You  cannot  mistrust 
me,  when  I  promise  ever  to  afford  you  proofs  of  true  attach- 
ment, and  1  hope  you  will  be  faithful  to  me!"  After  this, 
they  embraced  affectionately,  and  swore  to  each  other  eternal 
fidelity.  Nor  is  it  possible  for  any  man  to  have  kept  his 
word  more  scrupulously  towards  his  wife,  as  will  be  seen  in 
the  continuation  of  this  narrative.  The  following  day  Spato- 
lino departed  at  the  head  of  his  band,  which  was  composed  of 
eighteen  persons,  himself  and  wife  included,  and  proceeded 
to  the  vicinity  of  Portatta,  near  the  main  road  leading  from 
Home  to  Naples,  which  at  that  time  was  much  frequented  by 
the  French  of  every  rank  and  condition,  who  proceeded 
under  orders  between  these  two  places.  Towards  night, 
Spatolino  placed  himself  and  comrades  in  ambush  on  the 
high  road,  intending  to  take  advantage  of  a  military  body  of 
which  he  had  information.  Ere  long  a  sound  of  horses  was 
heard;  they  were  immediately  on  the  alert,  and  succeeded  in 
arresting  a  French  escort  of  seven  soldiers  on  foot,  and  the 
same  number  on  horseback,  conducting  the  baggage-waggon 
of  a  French  colonel  of  the  line.  It  contained  all  his  effects, 
and  money  to  a  large  amount.  Upon  the  first  fire  of  Spato- 
lino s  band,  five  of  the  soldiers  were  killed,  and  three  despe- 
rately wounded;  he  then  threw  himself  amongst  the  others, 
who  were  placed  on  the  defence,  and  who  had  expended 

F  F2 


330  TALKS    OF    OTI1EII    DAYS. 

their  fire  without  hurting  a  single  individual  of  the  bairn 
Spatolino,  with  his  pistols,  killed  two,  and  a  few  moments 
saw  him  and  his  band  masters  of  the  field.  Spatolino  ordered 
his  men  to  strip  the  dead,  and,  placing  everything  in  the 
waggon,  after  digging  a  pit  for  the  bodies,  they  retired  to  a 
cave  in  the  wood  near  the  road,  where  the  booty  was  equally 
divided.  He  took  himself  two  of  the  best  horses,  and  tinned 
and  equipped  his  band  in  a  superior  manner.  He  also  pre- 
sented to  his  wife  a  part  of  the  spoil,  she  having  been  armed 
in  the  action,  performing  the  duty  of  a  sentinel,  on  the  high- 
way, in  advance  about  half  a  mile  off,  to  give  notice,  in  case 
of  an  overwhelming  force  appearing.  Spatolino,  having  made 
a  fair  division  of  the  spoil,  to  raise  the  courage  of  his  com- 
panions, sent  all  his  own  money  to  his  parents,  informing 
them,  at  the  same  time,  that  for  the  future  they  should  be 
released  from  misery,  as  he  would  ever  bear  in  inind  the 
beings  who  gave  him  birth. 

This  affair  was  soon  known  at  Rome,  with  the  intelligence 
that  the  baggage-waggon  and  effects  of  the  colonel  were 
captured.  The  police  sent  a  detachment  to  the  place  of  the 
occurrence,  and  the  bodies  of  the  slain  were  examined,  as  to 
their  having  been  killed  by  gun-shots  or  poigmirds.  It  was 
not  then  possible  to  criminate  Spatolino,  he  having  but  just 
commenced  his  warfare,  and  having  never  divulged  his 
name;  nevertheless,  it  became  known  in  a  lew  days,  that  he 
was  at  the  head  of  a  considerable  band;  which  much  surprised 
the  government,  believing  him  to  be  in  their  grasp  too  easily, 
to  venture  so  daringly.  Spatolino  had  information  of  all  this, 
and  set  out,  resolving  to  retire  more  into  the  heart  of  the 
Papal  dominions,  in  which  there  are  desert  plains  and  moun- 
tains, which  afford  secure  shelter.  He  sent  his  cousins, 
disguised,  to  Rome,  to  ascertain  how  they  should  proceed; 
and,  in  the  meantime,  went  himself  by  night  on  the  high  road, 
killing  all  the  French  that  came  in  his  way,  and  making  no 
distinction,  whether  couriers,  soldiers,  or  officers.  According 
to  his  confession,  as  well  as  that  of  his  men,  the  prosperous 
result  of  their  first  attacks  rendered  them  far  more  daring. 
Spatolino  was  in  the  frequent  habit  of  changing  his  apparel 
and  horses,  causing  his  associates  to  do  the  same.  From  this 
stratagem,  the  French  government  in  Rome  conceived  the 
band  to  be  very  numerous.  Traversing  the  Roman  plains, 
he  once  reached  that  city  unknown,  and  returned  again  to 
the  roads  of  Naples,  hut  not  without  committing  a  murder 
on  his  way.  He  was  then  satisfied,  and  remained  quiet  for  * 


THE    ROBBER    SPATOL1XO.  331 

short  time.  The  proprietors  of  carriages  on  the  road,  were 
obliged  to  wait  until  seven  or  eight  could  set  of?  together, 
like  a  caravan,  escorted  by  dragoons  or  hussars.  The  cousins 
of  Spatolino  continued  in  Rome,  affording  him  information  of 
all  that  occurred.  One  day  he  was  apprised  of  there  being  a 
number  of  carriages,  with  French  officers,  political  deputies, 
escorted  by  twenty-six  chasseurs,  about  to  proceed  to  Milan. 
Spatolino,  knowing  that  three  of  his  friends  were  brigands  in 
the  kingdom  of  Naples,  men  of  great  courage  and  enterprise, 
sent  to  them,  apprising  them  of  a  blow  he  projected,  ac- 
quainting them  of  the  number  they  would  have  to  attack,  and 
urging  them,  with  their  comrades,  to  join  them.  These 
brigands,  amounting  in  all  to  twenty-six,  repaired  immediately 
to  Spatolino,  who,  on  their  arrival,  went  to  examine  the  spot 
most  advantageous  for  attacking  the  caravan.  When  he  had 
digested  his  plan,  he  ordered  that  each  man  should  have  two 
muskets,  two  pistols,  and  a  knife.  He  caused  some  muskets 
to  be  carried  on  mules,  in  case  of  their  requiring  more;  and 
sent  some  of  his  men  to  a  small  village,  to  take  ten  howitzers 
of  brass,  which  used  to  be  fired  off  in  celebration  of  the 
patronizing  saint,  as  is  the  custom  in  those  countries.  He 
had  the  whole  conveyed  to  the  place  appointed,  and  then 
acquainted  his  cousin  at  Rome,  of  everything  being  in  readi- 
ness, requesting  him  to  give  him  notice  a  few  hours  previous 
to  the  departure  of  the  escort.  The  spot  fixed  on  by 
Spatolino,  was  twenty-two  miles  from  Rome,  forming  a  cavity, 
intersected  with  ditches  at  small  distances  from  each  other,  so 
that  he  and  his  people  could  be  concealed,  and  fire  from  a 
covert.  Having  received  information  that  the  escort  was  on 
the  road,  he  divided  his  men  into  three  divisions,  placed  him- 
self in  the  middle,  with  six  of  his  bravest  adherents,  one 
division  on  an  eminence,  and  another  at  some  little  distance, 
as  a  reserve;  near  the  latter,  he  posted  the  ten  howitzers, 
charged  with  powder,  and  placed  his  wife  as  commander,  that, 
when  she  heard  him  and  his  men  commence  their  firing,  she 
should  let  them  off,  by  this  means  intimidating  the  passengers 
and  soldiers,  by  causing  them  to  suppose  they  had  field-pieces. 
He  commanded  his  comrades  not  to  fire  until  he  gave  the 
signal,  but,  when  once  begun,  to  continue  firinar  upon  the 
escort  and  carriages,  without  mercy.  Notwithstanding  the 
inferiority  of  his  party,  Spatolino,  without  considering  the 
danger,  waited  with  impatience  to  satiate  his  vengeance  on 
the  oppressors  of  his  country.  Fortunately  for  him,  he  w«s 
the  dread  of  the  people  in  and  about  Rome,  w  ho  believed  his 


332  TALES  OF  OTHER  DAYS. 

band  to  be,  if  possible,  numerous  without  end.  Towards 
day-break,  an  escort  appeared,  consisting  of  seven  horse 
chasseurs;  these  being1  the  advance  guard,  Spatolino  suffered 
them  to  pass;  and,  before  the  approach  of  the  carriages,  they 
had  gone  on  several  miles.  The  carriages,  which  were 
twelve  in  number,  contained  in  each  six  persons,  two  servants, 
and  two  drivers;  in  all  eighteen  attendants,  and  twenty-six 
dragoons  or  chasseurs  on  horseback.  Everything  occurred 
as  Spatolino  wished;  and  when  the  carriages  were  in  the 
middle  of  the  path,  he  caused  a  double  discharge,  reckoning 
the  howitzers,  which  appeared  to  be  cannon.  Fifteen  per« 
sons  were  killed,  and  many  wounded  at  once.  The  passengers 
imagined  themselves  attacked  by  a  hundred  persons,  and 
were  so  overpowered  by  surprise,  as  to  be  utterly  unable  to 
defend  themselves.  The  band  threw  away  their  arms  as 
they  discharged  them;  and,  being  encouraged  by  Spatolino, 
during  the  action,  to  revenge  their  wrongs  by  the  blood  of 
the  French,  they  fell  on  their  few  remaining  victims  sword  in 
hand,  without  showing  any  mercy  even  to  females,  of  whom 
there  were  two,  who,  falling  on  their  knees,  begged  for  life, 
which  was  most  barbarously  refused;  Spatolino  telling  them, 
that  it  was  their  lives  he  wanted,  and  not  their  effects,  and 
that  his  vengeance  would  never  be  satiated  while  a  French- 
man existed.  After  stripping  the  dead,  which  he  left 
unburied,  and  sending  the  spoil  to  the  place  of  rendezvous, 
he  himself,  with  his  two  cousins,  and  three  Neapolitans,  placed 
themselves  in  their  former  positions,  hoping  the  vanguard 
would  return.  Even  this  second  anticipation  turned  out  ac- 
cording to  their  desires;  the  guard,  after  waiting  some  time 
without  the  carriages  following,  turned  back,  and,  when 
within  sight  of  Spatolino  and  his  companions,  were  imme- 
diately fired  upon;  six  were  killed,  but  the  seventh,  although 
wounded,  having  a  good  horse,  escaped.  Satisfied  with  this 
enterprise,  Spatolino  ordered  those  horses  which  were  useless 
to  be  killed,  and  the  carriages  burnt.  His  band  wished  to 
share  the  booty,  and  demanded  an  immediate  investigation  Oi 
it;  but  Spatolino,  who  calculated  the  time  the  account  might 
reach  Rome,  and  feared  to  be  surprised  by  a  superior  for»N 
ordered  the  horses  to  be  laden,  and  departed  immediately, 
milking  forced  marches.  He  chose  the  most  unfrequented 
roads,  in  an  opposite  direction  to  that  on  which  he  would  be 
pursued.  Being  at  last  in  a  place  of  safety,  he  halted,  and 
found  the  spoils  very  valuable,  having  been  the  property  of 
the  principal  employes  of  the  government. 


THE    ROBBER    SPATOLINO.  333 

He  scrupulously  divided  the  spoil  with  his  companions,  and 
they  reposed  a  few  days,  making  themselves  merry,  and 
believing  they  had  done  a  most  virtuous  action,  in  sending1 
from  the  world  so  many  persecutors  of  their  country.  The 
reports  spread  in  Rome  respecting  this  massacre  were  of 
the  most  alarming  kind,  and  even  General  Miollis  had  his 
apprehensions:  the  French  Government  being  hated,  not 
only  for  the  treatment  to  which  the  pope  had  been  subjected, 
but  because  the  Romans,  having  received  the  French  as 
brothers,  expected  the  same  return,  instead  of  which,  they 
were  treated  with  contempt.  They  found  the  city  of  Rome 
declared  a  part  of  the  Empire  of  France,  and  they  them- 
selves dependent  on  Paris.  Such  a  position  of  affairs  filled 
them  with  the  greatest  indignation,  and  they  cherished  to- 
wards all  the  French  an  implacable  hatred.  Many  were 
heard  to  say,  '*  Under  the  pope  we  were  ill  off,  considering 
his  bad  government,  but  then  we  were  dependent  on  our 
own;  and  now,  that  we  expected  to  be  in  the  enjoyment  of 
liberty,  we  find  ourselves  more  slaves  than  ever,  and  to 
strangers."  Letters  were  very  frequently  intercepted;  but 
with  all  the  exertion  of  General  Miollis,  he  never  could 
obtain  information  as  to  the  haunts  of  Spatoliuo  and  his 
band.  The  inhabitants  of  the  different  towns  and  villages, 
knowing  that  Spatolino's  enmity  was  only  against  the  French, 
as  he  never  injured  them  or  their  property,  gave  him  and  his 
companions  an  asylum,  their  protection,  and  every  species  of 
succour,  whenever  required.  The  Roman  Congress  being  at 
this  time  more  employed  in  making  new  laws,  than  thinking 
ot  taking  Spatolino,  was  the  cause  of  his  present  safety.  The 
Roman  police  was  under  a  man  named  Piranesi,  a  very  able 
person,  to  watch  over  its  internal  regulations,  and  to  occupy 
himself  with  the  capital,  which  required  great  vigilance,  from 
the  recent  changes.  Difficulties,  too,  were  expected  to  arise 
from  the  measure  contemplated  by  Napoleon,  of  removing  the 
whole  of  the  Sacred  College,  conjointly  with  all  the  priests 
who  would  not  take  the  oaths  of  fealty  to  France;  and  at 
this  time,  it  was  impossible  to  think  of  attacking  Spatolino  or 
his  baud.  General  Miollis,  however,  Governor  of  Home, 
hearing  daily  of  some  massacre  of  the  French  people,  deter- 
mined on  sendintr  troops  against  £j>atnliuo.  The  mountains 
of  the  districts  he  had  chosen  as  his  rendezvous,  appeared  as 
if  nature  had  expressly  formed  them  for  the  security  of  such 
brigands.  Although  a  regiment  was  employed,  it  was  always 
beaten  by  Spatolino,  who*  observing  the  progress  he  mad'e, 


334  TALKS  OF  OTHER  DAYS. 

acquired  more  courage,  and  in  no  long  space  of  time  had 
committed  more  murders,  and,  at  the  same  time,  effected  such 
coups  de  main,  as  were,  perhaps,  never  equalled  by  a  free- 
booter. The  contributions  to  the  French  government  con- 
tinued; the  great  neglect  of  the  generals  and  magistrates,  the 
miseries  of  the  country,  and  the  debts  of  individuals,  ren- 
dered the  population  of  Rome  rebellious,  as  well  as  that  ot 
the  provinces.  The  French  garrison  could  not  be  in  every 
place  at  once.  A  national  guard  was  therefore  formed,  at  the 
head  of  which  was  placed  the  Count  Marescotti,  an  individual 
devoted  to  France.  His  ordinances  were  effectual  for  pre- 
venting political  commotions  in  towns,  but  not  for  restraining 
the  brigands  in  the  provinces,  who  were  daily  making  pro- 
gress. Spatolino  did  not  lose  any  opportunity  of  vengeance. 
As  the  French  were  unacquainted  with  the  country,  they 
found  themselves  perpetually  falling  into  ambuscades,  and 
becoming  his  victims.  One  of  Spatolino's  cousins,  named 
Panza-Neza,  who  was  even  more  ferocious  than  himself,  and 
cherished,  if  possible,  more  deadly  hatred  of  the  French,  often 
disguised  himself,  and  traversed  the  villages  alone.  If  he 
met  with  a  Frenchman,  he  formed  an  acquaintance  with  him, 
conducted  him  to  a  coffee-house,  and  even  paid  for  his  enter- 
tainment; he  would  then  draw  him  into  some  obscure  place 
in  the  country,  murder  him,  and  return  to  his  companions, 
satisfied  with  having  effected  a  noble  act.  If  he  returned  in 
bad  spirits,  it  was  taken  as  a  proof  that  he  had  been  unsuc- 
cessful. He  was  even  reported  to  carry  his  revenue  to  such 
an  extent,  as  to  have  made  a  Frenchman  dead  drunk,  place 
him  on  horseback,  bound  down  like  a  sack  of  corn,  and, 
taking  him  to  the  camp,  allow  him  to  sleep  until  sober.  When 
awake,  with  the  assistance  of  his  fellow  bandits,  he  stripped 
him,  cut  off  his  extremities,  and  burnt  him  alive.  He  slept 
frequently  at  the  house  of  a  comrade,  named  Menghini  di 
Sorrito,  who  professed  great  friendship  and  eternal  attach- 
ment to  him.  Ofttimes  did  Menghini  apprise  Panza-Neza  of 
the  movements  of  the  French  troops  against  their  brigands; 
and,  at  the  period  of  the  earlier  transactions,  the  amity  of  his 
associate  was  of  great  avail.  Panza  rewarded  him  liberally; 
still  Menghini  was  not  satisfied,  and  extorted  from  him  a 
promise  of  a  large  sum  of  money.  The  name  of  Panza-Neza 
was  notorious,  from  the  atrocities  he  perpetrated;  and  the 
governor  found  himself  obliged  to  offer  a  large  reward  to  any 
one  who  would  bring  him,  dead  or  alive.  Menghini,  not  re- 
ceiving the  promised  money,  and  finding  the  sum  offered  by 


THE    ROBBER    SPATOLINO.  335 

the  government  to  be  very  considerable,  determined  on  giving 
up  Panza-Neza.  He  could  not  specify  the  exact  time;  but 
the  governor  sent  a  force  in  disguise  to  Sorrito,  the  village 
where  Menghini  resided.  The  following  night,  Panza  re- 
paired to  his  comrade,  and,  acquainting  him  of  his  having 
killed,  that  morning,  two  Frenchmen,  Menghini  appeared 
much  pleased,  and  proposed  going  to  buy  liquor  to  drink  the 
pope's  health,  to  which  Panza  acceded.  After  two  hours' 
absence,  he  returned  with  liquor,  and  they  commenced 
drinking. 

In  a  short  time  Panza  became  intoxicated,  and  fell  asleep, 
when  Menghini  let  in  the  guard,  who  bound  and  dragged 
him  down  stairs.  Knowing  the  cruelties  he  had  committed, 
they  beat  him  with  the  butt-ends  of  their  muskets;  and,  after 
much  bad  usage,  cut  off  his  head,  w  hich  was  sent  to  the  local 
authorities,  to  obtain  payment  of  the  promised  reward.  As 
soon  as  Spatolino  heard  of  the  death  of  his  cousin,  he  sur- 
mised that  his  associate  had  betrayed  him.  To  ascertain  this, 
he  repaired  alone  to  seek  Menghini,  to  inquire  into  the 
particulars;  conceiving  that,  without  treachery,  the  guard 
could  not  have  easily  surprised  a  single  individual,  not  known 
to  them  personally.  When  Spatolino  reached  the  dwelling 
of  Menghini,  he  found  only  the  father  of  the  traitor,  who 
appeared  so  truly  to  lament  their  friend,  that  Spatolino  be? 
lieved  all  his  assertions,  and  determined  on  remaining  with 
him  that  night.  The  old  man  was  pleased  with  this  proposal, 
hoping  to  treat  him  in  the  same  manner  as  Panza,  and  obtain 
a  larger  sum  for  his  capture,  as  the  leader  of  the  infamous 
band.  At  the  same  time,  he  thought  it  would  ensure  the 
safety  of  his  son,  should  he  be  discovered  as  the  betrayer  of 
Panza.  Menghini  himself  would  not  sleep  at  his  own  house, 
fearing  Spatolino  might  come  to  a  knowledge  of  the  affair, 
but  remained  at  a  cottage  not  far  distant.  The  old  man,  pre- 
tending to  require  something  for  supper,  left  Spatolino,  say- 
ing he  would  soon  return.  Repairing  immediately  to  his 
son,  he  acquainted  him  who  he  had  at  home;  how  he  had 
deceived  him  respecting  the  death  of  his  cousin;  and  it  being 
the  custom  of  Spatolino  and  Panza,  whenever  they  entered 
any  house,  to  change  their  dress  and'takc  off  their  arms,  that 
he  had  concealed  Spatolino's,  so  that  he  was  in  their  power. 
Although  Menghini  had  not  at  first  the  idea  of  consummating 
this  second  treason,  he  determined  on  conforming  to  his 
father's  views,  and  set  off  to  Fiano,  a  small  village  half  a  mile 
distant.  There  he  hoped  to  find  sufficient  force  to  accom- 


336  TALES  OF  OTHER  DAYS. 

plish  his  design;  hut,  from  the  influence  of  Spatolino's  good 
fortune,  the  military  had  moved  from  thence  to  Sabina,  to 
try  the  effect  of  an  ambuscade  on  the  band.  He  was  not  dis- 
couraged, and  proceeded  to  another  village,  a  mile  farther, 
making  sure  of  finding  there  a  sufficient  force.  During  the 
night  Spatolino,  revolving  in  his  mind  the  length  of  time  he 
had  been  absent  for  the  supper,  suspected  some  treachery. 
Not  knowing  any  one  of  whom  he  could  inquire  where 
Menghini  was,  he  left  his  bed  in  anxiety,  and,  descending  tc 
the  lower  apartment,  his  suspicions  became  a  matter  of  cer- 
tainty, on  not  being  able  to  find  either  his  dress  or  arms.  He 
then  went  to  the  stable,  and  found  his  horse,  but  no  saddle. 
He  awoke  a  boy,  or  servant,  who  slept  there,  and  demanded 
what  had  been  done  with  it;  and  the  boy,  pretending  not  to 
know  anything  on  the  subject,  Spatolino  seized  a  hatchet, 
which  happened  to  be  near  him,  and  split  his  skull.  Foaming 
with  rage,  he  flew  with  it  in  his  hand  to  the  house,  and,  de- 
manding of  the  old  woman  (servant  of  Menghiui,)  in  the  most 
peremptory  manner,  where  his  dress  and  arms  had  been 
hidden,  she,  almost  petrified  with  fright,  erave  them  up  imme- 
diately. He  then  saddled  his  horse  and  departed,  leaving 
the  servant  petrified  with  fear,  and  determined  on  investi- 
gating the  business  satisfactorily.  Some  considerable  distance 
from  the  house  of  Menghini,  and  completely  off  the  road,  he 
tied  his  horse  to  a  tree.  Again  approaching  the  house,  he 
concealed  himself  in  some  brushwood  on  the  side  of  the  road, 
sufficiently  near  to  see  all  who  might  leave  or  approach  it. 
He  had  not  waited  long,  when  the  house  was  surrounded  bv 
soldiers.  Th«  old  woman,  whom  the  death  of  the  boy  had 
bereft  of  voice  and  breath,  knowing  herself  to  be  rio\v  in  per- 
fect safety,  related  every  circumstance;  confessing  that  fear 
of  her  master's  not  bringing  the  guard,  and  of  her  own  life, 
had  made  her  resign  the  .arms  to  Spatolino,  who  had  disap- 
peared like  a  Bash  of  lightning,  and  must  be  then  far  distant. 
The  soldiers  departed  in  a  short  time,  regretting  much  having 
lost  so  good  a  chance  of  capturing  the  bandit.  Menghini, 
while  the  guards  were  at  his  house,  did  not  proceed  with  them, 
but  remained,  by  chance,  close  to  the  very  spot  where  Spa- 
tolino was,  rejoicing  in  the  idea  of  seeing  him  secured.  Great 
was  his  horror  to  know  the  result,  being  too  well  aware  of 
what  he  had  to  expect  from  the  robber's  vengeance.  The 
chief  of  the  guards  advised  him  not  to  remain  in  his  present 
residence:  for  that  night,  he  might,  indeed,  be  safe,  as  Spato- 
lino would  hardly  remain  so  near  danger.  The  officer  and 


THE    ROBBER    SPATOLINO.  337 

his  men  returned  to  their  quarters,  at  some  dbtance  from  the 
village,  but  kept  in  readiness  to  move  on  the  slightest  alarm. 
The  father  and  son  remained,  but  still  not  without  fear  of 
being  surprised  by  Spatolino,  whose  blood  boiled,  and  urged 
him  not  to  lose  the  present  moment.  He  had  seen  the  father 
and  son  pass  him  to  enter  their  house,  and,  the  way  being 
clear,  he  sprang  after  them  like  a  wild  beast.  Menghini  and 
his  father  tied  immediately  to  their  door,  hoping  to  get  in 
before  he  overtook  them,  and  secure  themselves;  but  ihe  old 
woman  had  locked  them  out.  This  delay  decided  their  fate. 
Before  the  servant  could  give  them  admittance,  Spatolino 
was  at  their  side.  Entering  the  dwelling  with  them,  terror- 
struck  as  they  were,  they  soon  fell  an  easy  prey  to  his  ven- 
geance. Seeing  himself  victorious,  he  determined,  in  order 
to  make  himself  still  more  the  terror  of  the  country,  to  afford 
a  fresh  example  of  his  temerity.  He  collected  in  the  house 
all  the  straw,  hay,  and  wood,  he  could  find  at  hand,  and  set 
fire  to  it,  gratified  by  the  blaze  it  made,  and  hoping  it  would 
announce  to  the  armed  force,  at  a  little  distance,  his  prompt 
revenge.  This  tragedy  concluded,  he  mounted  his  horse,  and 
hastened  to  rejoin  his  band. 

After  Spatolino's  recent  terrible  act  of  vengeance,  General 
Miollis  was  more  than  ever  anxious  for  the  destruction  of 
Spatolino  and  his  companions.  They  were  daily  increasing 
in  number,  and,  by  the  influence  of  money,  Spatolino  was 
obtaining  friends  in  Rome  itself.  General  Miollis  increased 
the  sum  ottered  for  the  capture  of  Spatolino,  and  ordered  that 
his  parents  should  be  arrested,  conducted  to  Fort  St.  Angelo, 
and  their  house  plundered,  which  was  guessed  to  contain  no 
little  wealth,  their  son  having  sent  them  at  various  times 
large  sums  of  money.  Spatolino  now  removed,  with  his  wife 
and  band,  to  the  maritime  country.  He  related  to  them  the 
treachery  of  Menghini,  and  his  deed  of  vengeance.  Know- 
ing the  government  of  Rome  would  adopt  the  most  active 
measures  to  get  him  into  their  power,  he  urged  their  being 
cautious,  as  he  had  proved  how  great  would  be  his  revenge 
on  those  who  should  endeavour  to  betray  him.  He  main- 
tained in  Rome  a  number  of  spies,  who  gave  him  intelligence 
of  all  that  occurred;  and,  considering  it  a  duty,  they  for- 
warded to  him  the  new  decree  of  Miollis  against  him,  and  the 
intended  seizure  of  his  parents,  with  their  property.  Not  in- 
timidated by  this  news,  he  endeavoured  to  be  beforehand, 
and  avenge  himself  on  those  who  were  proceeding  to  fulfil 
the  General's  orders.  Taking  with  him  four  of  his  associates, 


338  TALES  OF  OTHI:R  DAYS. 

he  went  to  Frosinone,  where  his  parents  resided,  leaving  his 
four  companions  in  the  vicinity,  untiL  he  returned  to  them 
with  his  parents,  their  relations,  and  all  the  property  he 
could  carry.  Previous  to  leaving  the  house,  he  distributed,  in 
every  part,  a  quantity  of  ox,  goat,  and  buffalo  horns,  that, 
when  the  French  detachment  arrived,  he  might  laugh  at  the 
idea  of  the  plunder  they  so  little  expected  to  find.  His 
parents  were  received  at  his  camp  by  his  wife,  with  great 
regard,  and,  removing  them  immediately  to  a  place  of  safety, 
he,  with  his  band,  awaited,  on  the  road  of  Frosinone,  the 
return  of  the  detachment,  which,  he  deemed,  by  this  time  had 
taken  possession  of  the  horns.  The  most  distinguished  talent 
of  Spatolino,  was  that  of  choosing  his  ground  when  he  made 
an  attack.  He  was  well  advised  as  to  the  number  of  troops 
on  the  expedition,  which,  being  numerous,  he  determined  to 
act  by  stratagem.  He  ordered  many  of  his  associates  to 
leave  Frosinone  during  the  day,  (that  they  might  be  by 
government,  who  had  continual  spies  upon  them,  supposed 
elsewhere,)  and  in  the  night,  to  return  with  the  greatest 
promptness  to  where  they  had  left  him.  Fortune  again 
smiled  on  the  operations  of  Spatolino;  but  it  was  owing  to 
his  skill  and  penetration  in  foreseeing  everything,  and 
neglecting  nothing  to  secure  success. 

The  associates  of  Spatolino  returning  at  night,  after  having 
retired  wo  the  interior  of  the  country,  and  Spatolino  being 
informed  of  the  French  detachment  marching  towards  Fro- 
sinone, without  any  suspicion,  believing  the  brigands  to  be  in 
an  opposite  direction,  he  allowed  them  to  attack  the  house, 
which  they  could  not  immediately  enter,  as  he  had  secured 
the  entrance-door  by  many  large  staples.  He  had  made  his 
parents,  when  escaping,  leave  the  house  by  a  private  door  at 
the  back,  and  leap  the  garden-wall.  The  French,  supposing 
the  inhabitants  to  be  concealed  within,  commenced  forcing  an 
entrance  with  all  possible  haste.  The  rage  and  humiliation 
of  the  French  officer,  conjointly  with  his  men,  on  finding  the 
house  abandoned,  and  every  apartment  strewed  with  horns, 
after  so  much  fatigue  and  precaution,  were  beyond  descrip- 
tion; but,  notwithstanding  his  fury,  the  people  of  Frosinone, 
who  had  assembled  together  to  witness  this  expedition,  could 
not  refrain  from  laughing  and  scoffing  on  discovering  the 
jest.  The  officer,  suspecting  Spatolino  and  some  of  his  asso- 
ciates to  be  in  the  neighbourhood,  determined  on  remaining 
at  Frosinone  that  night.  The  detachment  being  formed  or 
twenty  men  on  horseback,  and  twenty-four  on  foot,  the 


THE    ROBBER    SPATOLINO.  330 

officer  caused  the  latter  to  march  in  the  centre  of  the  cavalry; 
he  reviewed  them  all,  previous  to  their  departure,  and  directed 
the  march  to  be  effected  in  order  of  firing.  This  arrange- 
ment produced  a  battle,  in  which  Spatolino  evinced  his  usual 
daring  courage  and  knowledge  of  the  military  art.  He  had, 
hitherto,  ever  been  a  conqueror,  which  made  him  more  auda- 
cious in  projecting  any  enterprise,  however  difficult.  On  the 
following  morning,  Spatolino  was  informed,  by  a  spy,  that  the 
detachment  had  taken  precautions,  and  was  in  search  of  him; 
he  immediately  made  such  preparations  as  were  necessary, 
although  certain  of  not  deriving  any  benefit  by  the  attack, 
soldiers  having  no  money;  but  he  wished  to  attain  glory, 
and,  by  exterminating  all  Frenchmen,  render  a  service  to  his 
country.  Urging  his  men  to  show  their  courage,  by  which 
they  should  prove  to  the  French  army  and  papal  government, 
how  little  they  required  foreign  troops,  and,  placing  them  in 
divers  places,  in  order  to  enclose  the  detachment,  he  gave 
orders  not  to  fire  until  the  greater  part  had  passed.  Taking 
his  own  station  in  a  more  open  place,  to  animate  his  men,  and 
that  he  might  not  be  viewed  as  a  coward,  (it  being  the  tactic 
of  all  good  commanders  in  battle,  to  afford  a  brave  example, 
by  occupying  the  exposed  posts,)  when  the  detachment 
reached  the  place  Spatolino  had  marked  for  the  action,  he  gave 
orders  to  fire.  The  French,  seeing  themselves  hemmed  in 
on  all  sides,  determined  to  sell  their  lives  dearly,  and  endea- 
voured, by  a  return  of  fire,  to  open  a  passage  for  their  flight; 
but  the  brigands,  having  double-barrelled  guns,  answered 
them  with  a  second  discharge,  which  killed  the  whole  corps, 
excepting  two,  who  were  slightly  wounded.  Spatolino  lost 
three  men.  Happy  in  the  idea  of  having  taking  two  French- 
men alive,  he  conducted  them  to  his  camp,  assuring  them 
they  should  not  be  killed,  and  promising  them  money,  at  the 
same  time  dressing  theii  wounds  himself.  After  time  given 
for  their  recovery,  he  ordered  all  his  band  to  mount  their 
horses,  causing  them  to  lead  by  the  bridles  the  horses  taken 
from  the  enemy,  laden  with  the  spoil.  His  cousin  carried  a 
long  staff,  upon  which  was  placed  the  head  of  the  French 
commandant,  with  his  helmet  on,  that  it  might  be  known  as 
the  head  of  an  officer;  and  the  two  prisoners  walked  in  the 
midst,  in  chains;  Spatolino  assuring  them,  that  alter  these 
formalities,  he  would  send  them  to  Rome.  When  all  was 
arranged,  he  placed  himself  at  their  head,  and  they  marched 
in  triumph  towards  Frosinone,  where  the  inhabitants,  who 
were  enemies  to  the  French,  came  to  meet  them,  crying, 


340  TALKS  oi-   OT:IEK,  DAYS. 

"  Long  life  to  Spatolino,  and  death  to  the  tyrants!"  Spato- 
lino,  proud  of  the  victory  he  had  achieved,  passed  through 
Frosiuone,  returning  thanks  to  every  individual  who  cheered 
him.  Many  invited  him  to  their  houses,  but  he  would  not 
trust  himself  to  enter  their  dwellings,  neither  would  he  accept 
of  any  refreshment.  He  passed  through  the  town,  coming 
out  at  the  other  extremity,  and  proceeded  to  the  mountains, 
to  join  his  parents  and  wife.  After  having  refreshed  himself 
and  associates,  and  related  to  his  parents  and  wife  the  par- 
ticulars of  the  battle,  he  addressed  the  two  French  soldiers  as 
follows: — "  Your  lives  are  in  my  hands,  and  I  have  every 
right  to  take  them;  it  being  certain  that,  if  we  had  fallen  into 
your  hands,  we  should  have  been  instantly  shot  or  massacred, 
as  my  cousin  was.  It  is  my  wish  to  kill  every  Frenchman, 
as  usurpers  of  our  rights,  beginning  with  your  generals  and 
chief  employer,  who  have  come  to  Rome,  and  into  the  Papal 
States,  without  even  the  means  of  paying  the  expenses  of 
their  journey,  with  pride,  equipages,  servants,  and  a  ridiculous 
affectation,  which  have  increased  the  principal  vices  of  our 
nation,  instead  of  benefiting  us,  as  they  endeavour  to  prove. 
But  I  give  you  your  lives,  to  fill  up  my  vengeance,  by 
relating  the  celerity  with  which  I  destroyed  your  detachment, 
and  my  triumph,  afterwards,  in  the  manner  of  the  Roman 
emperors.  Tell  General  Miollis,  governor  of  Rome,  and  all 
your  generals,  they  have  been  well  punished  for  the  injus- 
tice of  arresting  my  parents,  who  were  innocent  of  my 
offences.  If  they  have  power  or  courage  who  command  for- 
midable armies,  they  should  direct  their  attacks  against  me, 
and  inflict  the  death  they  have  promised,  instead  of  perse- 
cuting two  old  and  innocent  individuals,  who  have  nothing  to 
do  with  my  crimes,  as  they  call  them;  but  I  do  not  consider 
them  anything  but  natural  retaliations,  merited  by  usurpers 
trained  to  war,  and  laden  with  pillage,  which  they  receive  at 
the  hands  of  peasants  young  in  combat,  and  poor.  I  was  in- 
formed of  the  injustice  you  w  ere  on  the  point  of  committing, 
Mid  you  have  paid  the  forfeit.  I  now  give  you  your  lives  on 
condition  that  you  follow  my  commands;  otherwise,  although 
I  set  you  free,  and  present  you  with  money,  horses,  arms,  and 
other  requisites,  should  I  know  you  have  acted  in  opposition 
to  my  wishes,  I  promise  .to  trace  you,  even  were  you  in  the 
apartments  of  the  Governor,  and  I  will  inflict  upon  you  the 
most  cruel  torments.  But  I  hope  you  will  be  my  friends, 
and,  for  that  reason,  wish  you  to  execute  a  more  impoitant 
commission  for  me; — tell  General  Miollis  that,  eight  days 


THE    KOI3BER    SPATOLINO.  341 

hence,  I  require  ten  thousand  sondi,  and,  unless  he  send  that 
sum  to  the  curate  of  Frosinone,  I  will  exert  my  vengeance  to 
a  terrible  degree  on  all  the  French,  besides  obtaining  three 
times  that  sum,  in  fifteen  days  after  that  time,  from  the 
government  chests;  whereas,  should  he  grant  my  request,  I 
pledge  my  word  to  allow  him  a  truce  of  three  months." 
Spatolino  then  caused  the  two  captives  to  mount  their  horses, 
exhorting  them,  at  the  same  time,  to  be  exact  as  to  his  de- 
nunciations. 

General  Miollis  had  scarcely  heard  the  detail  of  the  two 
men,  when  he  became  furious,  swearing  to  have  Spatolino  in 
his  power,  even  should  it  cost  him  a  thousand  men.  He  was, 
however,  advised  that  by  force  ho  could  not  effect  such  a 
thing;  it  was  better  to  send  Spatolino  the  money  he  de- 
manded, and,  during  the  truce,  endeavour  by  stratagem  to 
get  him  into  his  power.  The  General  considered  it  dis- 
graceful to  the  French  government,  not  to  be  able  to  suppress 
a  band  of  brigands.  Having  already  sacrificed  many  brave 
soldiers,  and  being  aware  of  the  populace  disliking  the  govern- 
ment, from  a  superstitious  idea  they  had  formed,  in  considering 
them  to  have  committed  sacrileire  by  sending  the  pope  away, 
and  that,  under  every  contingency,  they  were  bound  to  aid 
Spatolino  rather  than  the  Governor,  the  latter  was  apprehen- 
sive that  a  counter-revolution  might  break  out.  Having 
weighed  all  these  considerations,  he  determined  on  remitting 
Spatolino  the  money,  under  stipulation  that  he  would  observe 
his  pledge;  and  sent  it  to  the  curate  of  Frosinone,  with  a 
letter,  specifying  the  above  agreement. 

Spatolino,  on  receiving  it,  answered  "  that  he  was  ready  to 
keep  ^iis  word  as  long  as  the  government  would  allow  him 
and  his  band  to  be  quiet  in  their  residence.  I  am  a  bandit, 
at  least  they  call  me  so,  but  when  I  pledge  my  word  of 
honour,  I  stick  to  it  more  than  the  Emperor  Napoleon." 
Arid,  without  even  thanking  the  curate,  he  returned  to  the 
mountains  to  amuse  himself  in  the  bosom  of  his  family.  After 
some  little  time,  General  Miollis  caused  a  letter  to  be  sent  to 
Spatolino,  in  which  he  extolled  his  courage,  granted  him  a 
pardon  for  his  past  crimes,  (knowing  him  to  have  committed 
them  from  love  to  his  sovereign,)  and  promised  him,  if  he 
would  surrender,  a  situation  in  the  corps  of  gens-d'armes,  with 
very  handsome  pay,  and  pardon,  with  a  pension  for  all  his 
men.  Spatolino,  at  the  expiration  of  two  months,  replied  to 
General  Miollis,  "  that  he  was  very  grateful  to  the  French 
government,  for  their  kind  otter  to  him  and  his  band;  but, 
G  G  2 


342  TALES  OF  OTHER  DAYS. 

oesides  feeling  more  pleasure  in  commanding  than  being 
commanded,  he  never  could  be  faithful  to  the  French  govern- 
ment, not  approving  of  its  manner  of  acting  against  his 
religion;  and  must  therefore  refuse  all  offers  made  to  him  on 
that  subject.  After  the  lapse  of  the  three  months'  truce,  he 
commenced  his  massacres  in  the  most  ferocious  manner, 
having  the  madness  to  suppose  he  might  deliver  the  Papal 
States  from  their  oppressors,  and  bring  back  Pius  VII.  His 
band  was  increasing  daily,  and  the  government  sacrificed  its 
troops  without  attaining  any  advantage.  Nor  is  it  possible 
to  enumerate  the  murders  they  committed  by  the  most  cruel 
and  barbarous  means,  and  upon  the  most  innocent  persons — 
as  their  being  French  was  sufficient  crime  in  the  eyes  of 
Spatolino.  General  Miollis  was  more  than  ever  enraged  and 
ashamed  at  not  being  able  to  put  down  this  band  of  brigands; 
and  he  was  receiving  daily,  from  Paris,  reproaches  on  the 
subject,  which  made  him  resolve  on  calling  upon  Angelo  Rotoli, 
commissary  of  the  police  of  Rome,  an  intelligent  and  active 
man,  to  whom  the  government  had  more  than  once  intrusted 
operations  of  the  greatest  relative  importance,  which  he  had 
always  executed  with  honour  and  credit.  The  General,  com- 
municating to  Rotoli  his  ideas  for  getting  Spatolino  into 
their  power,  consulted  with  him  upon  the  most  effective 
means:  and,  although  Rotoli  could  perceive  great  difficulty 
in  bringing  an  affair  of  such  importance  to  a  conclusion,  he 
assured  the  General  that  no  means  should  be  left  untried  by 
him  to  ensure  success,  even  at  the  peril  of  his  life,  but  he 
could  not  possibly  be  responsible  as  to  the  result.  General 
Miollis  offered  Rotoli  great  rewards;  but  his  ambition  was  to 
be  useful  to  the  French  nation,  and  fulfil  his  duty  like  an 
honest  man,  incapable  of  being  influenced  by  an  offer  of 
money.  After  some  days'  consideration,  he  informed  the 
General,  that,  not  caring  about  risk  to  his  own  life,  he  would 
himself  go  and  speak  to  Spatolino.  Rotoli  then  wrote  a 
letter  to  Spatolino,  in  which  he  expressed  a  strong  desire  to 
speak  to  him  about  some  affairs  of  great  importance — profess- 
ing himself  ready  to  meet  him  alone,  and  without  arms, 
wherever  he  chose  to  appoint;  he  farther  assured  him,  that 
he  should  have  no  reason  to  repent  having  placed  his  confi- 
dence in  him.  Spatolino,  after  a  little  reflection,  decided 
upon  receiving  Rotoli  in  his  camp.  He  wrote  him  a  polite 
letter,  saying,  he  would  expect  him  at  his  head-quarters,  pro- 
mising that,  although  Rotoli  had  been  employed  under  the 
French,  he  should  meet  with  no  molestation,  as  they  consi- 


THE    ROBBER    SPATOLINO.  313 

dered  him  a  true  patriot,  and  attributed  his  serving  the 
usurpers  to  the  necessity  of  providing  for  his  numerous 
family.  Rotoli  received  this  answer  with  pleasure,  hoping, 
from- the  circumstance  of  his  being  a  Roman,  that  Spatolino 
would  not  fail  to  confide  in  him.  Spatolino  pointed  out  also, 
in  his  letter,  the  road  he  was  to  take,  and  the  place  where  he 
was  to  find  an  escort  to  conduct  him  to  his  camp.  Rotoli 
set  out  on  horseback,  and,  at  the  place  mentioned,  he  found 
six  men,  who  conducted  him,  by  an  almost  impracticable  road, 
to  the  place  where  Spatolino  was  residing  with  his  parents, 
his  wife,  and  all  his  company.  Spatolino  rose,  came  forward 
to  meet  him,  and  kissed  him.  After  many  kind  compliments, 
he  requested  Rotoli  to  be  seated,  and  ordered  wine  and 
refreshments.  "  Signer  Rotoli,"  said  Spatolino,  "  I  treat  you 
like  a  friend  and  a  countryman;  we  who  are  Romans  should 
love  like  brothers,  and  leave  compliments  to  the  French." 
Rotoli  was  not  backward  in  seconding  this  idea,  nor  in 
promising  him  eternal  friendship.  When  they  had  finished 
their  repast,  Spatolino  requested  to  know  what  was  the  object 
of  Rotoli's  visit,  and  if,  as  he  had  announced,  that  he  had  an 
affair  of  importance  to  communicate,  he  should  wish  to  speak 
with  him  alone.  Rotoli  having  answered  in  the  affirmative, 
at  a  look  from  Spatolino,  his  followers  instantly  disappeared, 
all  returning  to  their  respective  cabins.  Rotoli  then,  taking 
Spatolino's  hand,  said,  "  I  am  commissioned  by  government 
to  make  you  a  proposal,  which,  I  trust,  will  be  to  your  satis- 
faction. I  am  a  Roman;  you  may  confide  in  me;  and  I  am 
certain  that  if  you  had  a  pardon  and  a  good  employment, 
you  would  accept  it,  if  you  were  sure  that  you  would  be  fairly 
dealt  with."  "  My  dear  Signer  Rotoli,  you  talk  to  me  of  an 
employment,  and  you  know  that  I  abhor  the  government." 
"  Very  well,  then,"  answered  Rotoli,  "  I  shall  procure  a  good 
strong  prison  for  you,  your  parents,  your  wife,  and  your 
cousin:  as  for  your  companions,  to  appease  justice,  I  shall 
have  them  all  hanged — there  will  else  be  a  revolution;  I  pro- 
mise you  we  shall  not  have  them  again  sent  to  the  galleys. 
You  ought  to  be  pleased  with  this  arrangement,  as  you  will 
otherwise  surely  end  your  days  on  a  gibbet.  Your  com- 
panions, to  obtain  their  own  pardon,  and  a  good  sum  of 
money  which  has  been  set  upon  your  head,  will  most  cer- 
tainly betray  you.  I  advise  you  to  confide  in  me;  the  French 
government  esteems  you,  admires  you,  for  your  courage  and 
attachment  to  your  country;  remember  that  you  have  still 


344  TALES  OF  OTHER  DAYS. 

your  parents  and  your  wife,  and  if  you  were  to  be  betrayed 
and  taken,  how  would  the  government  treat  them  ?"  Spato- 
lino  understood  that,  sooner  or  later,  he  must  put  an  end  to 
his  present  kind  of  life;  and  had  fewer  objections  to  give 
himself  up.  as  his  hatred  against  the  French  had  been  some- 
what appeased  by  the  dreadful  massacres  he  had  committed. 
He  thus  answered  Rotoli: — "If  you  speak  honestly,  and  are 
my  friend,  I  promise  to  do  whatever  you  wish,  provided  you 
do  what  you  have  proposed.  I  will  give  up  my  men,  upon 
condition  that  they  be  sent  to  the  Fort  of  St.  Angelo,  without 
being  obliged  to  work;  that  they  remain  there  five  years, 
and  that  the  government  undertake,  during  this  time,  to  give 
them  all  they  require,  and,  at  their  liberation,  a  pension  of  at 
least  three  francs  per  day  to  each.  I  wish,  for  myself  and 
family,  a  pension  of  a  thousand  francs  a  month,  and  a  pass- 
port to  go  to  the  Levant  immediately,  as  1  do  not  wish  to 
remain  in  a  country  infected  by  the  presence  of  the  French." 
Rotoli,  seeing  that  Spatolino  would  willingly  yield  himself  up, 
promised  whatever  he  wished;  always  telling  him,  that  no 
changes  should  be  made  in  what  he  had  asked;  nay,  assuring 
him  that  he  thought  him  very  moderate  in  his  demands. 
Uotoli  having  asked  him  where  his  men  could  be  taken,  he 
answered  with  vivacity,  "  Signor  Rotoli,  I  am  no  traitor;  I 
do  this  only  because  I  am  sure  that  my  men  (whom  I  love 
as.  I  would  my  own  children)  will  one  day  thank  rne  for  it; 
but  if  I  could  for  a  moment  imagine  that  when  they  are  in 
the  hands  of  government  they  may  be  judged  as  assassins,  I 
would  sooner  tear  out  your  heart,  and  afterwards  General 
Miollis's."  Rotoli  hastened  to  assure  him  of  his  fidelity. 
"  Well,  then,"  said  Spatolino,  "  I  place  myself  in  your  power; 
my  happiness  or  misery  depends  on  you.  Come  in  a  fort- 
night, with  thirty  gens-d'armes,  dressed  like  us,  to  the  Valle 
dell'  Oliveto;  there  I  shall  wait  for  you,  and  we  will  go 
toffether  in  the  evening,  to  a  house  where  my  men  will  be, 
amusing  themselves,  as  it  is  my  birthday.  We  will  there 
surprise  them,  and  they  will  think  our  companions  are  the 
rest  of  the  band  in  the  kingdom  of  Naples,  whom  I  shall  pre- 
tend to  have  invited  on  purpose  to  celebrate  the  anniversary 
of  my  birth.  For  your  recompense  I  will  give  you  two  thou- 
sand crowns,  as  I  know  you  have  a  large  family  to  maintain, 
if  you  will  agree  no  longer  to  serve  the  French.  I  have 
treasures  hidden  here,  of  which  no  one  is  at  present  aware." 
Rotoli  thnnked  him  for  his  kindness,  and  conjured  him  again 


THE    ROBBER    SPATOLINO.  315 

to  confide  in  him.  After  having  drank  and  eaten,  he  took 
leave,  and  Spatolino  ordered  the  same  six  men  to  re-conduct 
him  to  the  place  where  they  had  found  him. 

As  soon  as  Rotoli  reached  Rome,  he  went  to  General 
Miollis,  and  told  him  all  that  he  had  promised  to  Spatolino. 
The  General  hesitated  in  trusting  Rotoli  with  the  gens- 
d'armes,  thinking  it  impossible  that  a  man  as  wily  as  Spato- 
lino could  let  himself  be  thus  deceived.  Rotoli  answered, 
that  "  very  often  great  men  had  been  over-reached  in  trifling 
aftairs,  after  having  shown  themselves  both  acute  and  provident 
in  transacting  those  of  great  importance."  Sure,  therefore,  of 
the  confidence  Spatolino  would  repose  in  him,  Rotoli  made 
all  the  necessary  preparations.  He  found  thirty  determined 
gens-d'armes,  to  whom  he  gave  good  arms  and  dresses  like 
those  of  the  banditti.  Rotoli  dressed  himself  as  before,  and, 
with  his  companions,  set  out  on  the  day  appointed,  to  the 
place  of  rendezvous.  Spatolino  did  not  make  his  appearance 
until  nine  o'clock  at  night,  when  Rotoli  was  beginning  to 
think  he  had  deceived  him.  He  became  re-assured  when  he 
saw  Spatolino,  and  without  any  fear  of  treachery  advanced  to 
meet  him,  took  his  hand,  and  wished  him  good  evening. 
"  Pardon  me,  Signor  Rotoli,"  said  Spatolino,  "  if  I  have  kept 
you  waiting:  I  wished  to  have  all  my  men  together,  but  I 
found  it  impossible,  as  my  cousin  is  gone  with  fourteen  of 
them,  to  surprise  some  civil  officers,  employed  under  t'le 
French,  who  are  going  in  their  carriages  to  Naples.  They 
would  not  on  any  account  consent  to  remain  to  celebrate?  my 
birthday,  telling  me  they  would  do  so  more  effectually  by 
killing  our  enemies,  than  by  remaining  here  to  eat  and  drink. 
You  cannot  now  take  more  than  ten,  who  are  with  my  wife, 
and  my  father  and  mother,  upon  the  mountains.'" — "  This  is 
sufficient  to  show  your  good  intentions,"  said  Rotoli,  "  and 
government  will  be  satisfied;  the  others  will  not  fail,  without 
doubt,  to  follow  your  example." — "  Are  you  sincere,  Signor 
Rotoli?"  said  Spatolino;  "my  heart  tells  me  that  something 
fatal  is  about  to  befall  me."  Rotoli  took  his  arm,  saying, 
"  Come,  am  I  not  your  countryman?  that  is  surely  enough." 
They  arrived  at  the  house  in  a  short  time;  Spatolino  whistled, 
and  the  door  was  immediately  opened.  He  entered  with 
twenty  gens-d'armes.  His  wife,  with  ten  of  the  banditti,  were 
seated  round  a  table,  eating  and  drinking.  Spatolino  ex- 
claimed, "  Here,  comrades,  I  bring  you  company!"  He  and 
his  men  were  then  seized  and  bound  in  an  instant.  "  My 
comrades!  my  wife!"  cried  Spatolino,  "  I  have  not  betrayed 


34G  TALES  OF  OTHER  DAYS. 

you.  Signor  Rotoli,  why  am  I  bound?  have  I  not  fulfilled 
my  engagement?"  Rotoli  answered,  "  Do  not  doubt  it; 
this  is  merely  a  form;  you  and  your  wife  will  be  at  liberty  as 
soon  as  we  arrive  at  Home."  The  banditti  then  began  to 
reproach  Spatolino  for  his  treachery,  telling  him  if  they  had 
thought  him  capable  of  it,  they  would  have  murdered  him 
long  ago,  and  have  sent  his  head  to  the  governor,  for  the 
price  set  upon  it.  Spatolino  said,  to  vindicate  himself,  "  If 
Rotoli  has  deceived  me,  he  is  an  infamous  traitor;  but  you 
shall  not  die;  I  will  defend  you."  They  were  conducted  to 
the  Carceri  Nuove,  in  the  Strada  Giulia.  Preparations  for 
the  trial  were  immediately  made,  and  Spatolino  perceived 
that  he  had  been  betrayed.  He  composed  himself,  saying, 
"  1  deserved  it;  my  countryman  has  betrayed  me  to  ingra- 
tiate himself  with  the  French! — let  us  now  think  of  saving 
the  innocent,  and  of  bringing  the  guilty  with  me  to  punish- 
ment." In  less  than  a  month  the  preparations  were  made  for 
the  trial;  more  than  two  hundred  witnesses  were  brought 
from  every  part  of  the  country,  to  prove  the  crimes  that  had 
been  committed,  and  the  government  ordered  a  military 
commission.  Spatolino,  being  now  sure  of  his  fate,  often  told 
those  around  him,  that  he  should  cause  much  laughter  on  the 
day  of  his  trial.  On  that  day  Spatolino  was  conducted  to 
the  commission,  with  his  wife  and  his  ten  companions.  After 
the  president  had  demanded  their  names,  Spatolino  rose  and 
addressed  him.  "  I  am  acquainted,  sir,"  said  he,  "  with  all 
these  formalities,  but  in  my  case  they  are  useless — all  is 
finished  for  rue;  I  know  that  death  alone  can  now  be  the 
recompense  of  my  courage,  or,  perhaps,  I  should  say,  of  my 
singleness  of  heart,  in  having  trusted  a  countryman  employed 
by  you,  usurpers  of  our  state.  There  is  now  no  remedy;  I 
only  ask  one  favour,  which  is,  sir,  to  speak  one  half-hour 
with  my  wife  alone,  before  I  die,  and  afterwards  I  will  myself 
candidly  tell  you  all  the  assassinations  I  have  committed,  and 
I  will  give  you  some  information  of  which  you  are  at  present 
entirely  ignorant."  The  president  answered,  that  upon  his 
word  of  honour  he  should  obtain  what  he  desired.  "  Signor 
Kutoli,"  said  Spatolino,  "  although  he  was  my  countryman, 
gave  me  his  word  of  honour,  and  yet  he  betraved  me." — 
"  Do  not  doubt  it,"  said  the  president,  "  you  shall  obtain 
what  you  desire."  The  trial  began,  and  Spatolino  interro- 
gated every  witness  that  was  examined,  explaining  himself 
how  the  affair  happened;  not  caring  about  aggravating  his 
own  punishment,  but  doing  everything  in  his  power  to  make 


THE    ROBBER    SPATOLINO.  317 

his  wife,  and  six  of  his  companions,  appear  less  guilty.  lie 
thought,  if  four  of  them  suffered  with  him,  he  might  manage 
To  get  the  rest  condemned  only  to  be  sent  to  the  gallies.  He 
succeeded  perfectly  in  his  plan.  Addressing  the  president, 
he  often  said,  "  Let  us  have  justice,  .sir;  we  are  not  all 
equally  guilty." — "  Do  riot  fear,"  answered  the  president; 
"  you  shall  surely  have  justice;  continue  to  speak  the  truth, 
and  you  shall  have  no  reason  to  complain."  The  people 
came  in  crowds  to  hear  this  trial.  Spatolino  defended  those 
he  wished  to  save,  with  great  presence  of  mind;  proving  that 
they  had  been  obliged  to  follow  him  by  force,  that  he  had 
menaced  to  kill  his  wife  if  she  did  not  do  whatever  he  ordered 
her;  and  he  exaggerated  his  own  crimes2,  and  those  of  the 
four  he  wished  to  die  with  him.  The  spectators  seemed 
frequently  much  amused  with  the  laughable  things  Spatolino 
was  saying;  at  length,  turning  to  the  audierce,  "  Gentlemen," 
said  he,  "  you  laugh  at  present,  but  you  will  not  laugh  three 
or  four  days  hence,  when  you  see  me  receive  five  or  six 
bullets  in  my  breast."  At  this  moment  he  recognized  one 
of  the  gens-d'armes,  who  were  guarding  him,  as  one  of  those 
who  had  assisted  him  at  an  assassination.  After  having 
examined  him  attentively,  Spatolino  said  to  the  president, 
"  Although  I  have  a  very  mean  opinion  of  the  French 
government,  yet  I  never  could  have  believed  that  they  would 
have  chosen  an  assassin  for  a  soldier."  The  president  desired 
him  to  explain  his  meaning.  Spatolino,  calling  the  soldier  by 
name,  said,  "  Have  you,  then,  the  courage  to  guard  me,  after 
having  been  an  assassin  in  my  company?  Lay  down  those 
arms,  and  place  yourself  among  the  other  assassins,  to  receive 
judgment  with  them."  The  soldier  fainted.  He  was  imme- 
diately disarmed,  and  placed  beside  Spatolino,  wheaa  he 
remained  immoveable,  not  knowing  how  to  exculpate  him- 
self. He  owned,  at  length,  that  he  had  been  an  assassin, 
but,  seeing  his  crimes  in  their  proper  light,  he  had  left  Spato- 
lino and  entered  the  French  service.  Spatolino  frequently 
comforted  his- companions,  and  particularly  the  soldier,  telling 
them  to  be  of  good  cheer,  and  reminding  them  that  they  had 
but  few  days  longer  to  suffer.  The  trial  lasted  eight  days; 
but  it.  would  be  impossible  to  mention  the  thousands  of 
crimes,  with  all  the  particulars  concerning  them,  which  were 
detailed  by  Spatolino;  he  showed  always  much  regret  when 
he  had,  by  any  inadvertency,  suffered  any  of  his  victims  to 
oscape.  Among  the  spectators  was  the  master  of  the  Posta 
de'  Cavalli,  of  Civita  Castellana.  As  soon  as  Spatoliuo 


348  TALES  OF  OTHER  DAYS. 

noticed  him,  he  said  to  the  president,  "  Three  times  have  I 
thought  to  kill  that  man;  the  last  time  he  received  a  shot  in 
his  left  arm,  which  now  renders  it  useless:  I  shall  die  regret-" 
"ing  that  I  could  not  finish  him  I  should  have  rendered  a 
jreat  service  to  society  if  I  had  rid  the  world  of  a  vile  spy, 
who  thought  to  make  himself  be  remarked  and  rewarded  b\ 
informing  the  governor  where  I  was  to  be  found.  No  human 
being  could  have  taken  me,  had  even  Napoleon  come  himself 
with  all  his  army.  Signer  Rotoli  alone  could  deceive  me. 
Death  will  be  nothing  compared  to  the  grief  I  feel  at  not 
being  able  to  revenge  myself  by  tearing  out  the  heart  of 
Rotoli,  and  (pointing  to  the  postmaster)  of  that  vile  spy." 
At  the  termination  of  the  trial  the  commission  retired,  and 
returned,  after  a  consultation  of  two  hours,  condemning 
Spatolino,  with  four  of  his  companions  and  the  soldier,  to 
death,  two  of  the  others  to  the  gallies  for  life,  four  fur  twenty 
years  to  the  gallies,  and  his  wife  to  five  years'  imprisonment. 
Spatolino  seemed  much  pleased,  thanked  the  president,  and 
reminded  him  of  his  promise.  The  president  then  ordered 
Spatolino's  wife  to  be  allowed  to  remain  with  him  half  an 
hour.  Spatolino  informed  her  where  he  had  hid  his  trea- 
sures, and  exhorted  her  to  bear  patiently  the  five  years' 
imprisonment.  After  this  conversation,  he  desired  that  no 
one  might  come  near  him  until  the  time  appointed  for  the 
execution,  not  wishing  to  be  teazed  with  the  priests,  as  he 
said  he  felt  his  conscience  unembarrassed  by  any  crime.  He 
gave  notice,  therefore,  that  if  his  orders  were  not  obeyed, 
he  would  murder,  by  kicks  and  blows,  the  first  person  that 
dared  to  come  near  him.  No  one  ventured  to  enter  his 
prison,  where  he  was  unbound;  but  the  priests,  from  the 
doo^exhorted  him  to  recommend  himself  to  God.  Spatolino 
sang  all  the  night,  frequently  asking  for  wine  and  something 
to  eat.  In  the  morning  he  would  not  consent  to  see  the 
priests,  but  he  requested  to  be  allowed  once  more  to  speak 
with  his  companions.  His  request  was  granted,  and  he  was 
taken  to  a  church,  where  he  found  them  tormented  by  the 
exhortations  the  priests  were  forcing  upon  them.  "  Cowards!" 
cried  Spatolino,  "  are  vou  not  ashamed  to  listen  to  these 
priests?  I  have  defended  my  country  against  our  oppressors, 
but  I  detest  the  priesthood.  Once  I  believed  them;  but  in 
the  course  of  the  years  I  commanded  you,  I  have  had  reason 
to  know  that  the  priests  will  not  hesitate  to  commit  any 
crime."  Spatolino  was  hurried  away,  for  fear  he  should 
influence  the  others,  and  placed  in  the  first  carriage,  while  his 


TRIALS    OF    TEMPER.  349 

companions  followed  him  at  a  distance.  On  the  way,  he 
looked  out  at  the  window,  bowing  to  the  women  they  met, 
and  telling  them  he  was  going  to  suffer  death  for  having  been 
too  honest.  Arrived  at  the  place  of  execution,  Spatolino 
embraced  his  companions,  saying  they  should  see  each  other 
in  the  next  world,  and  exhorting  them  to  die  vnth  courage. 
Then,  turning  to  the  people,  he  said,  "  I  have  committed 
many  crimes,  yet  I  die  regretting  that  I  am  obliged  to  leave 
the  Postmaster  of  Civita  Castellana  and  the  traitor  Rotoli 
behind  me;  but  I  must  be  patient.  Brave  soldiers,"  continued 
he,  "now  aim  straight  at  my  forehead,  that  I  may  not  sutler 
long."  He  then  met  death  with  the  greatest  courage.  The 
other  banditti,  having  heard  how  Spatolino  had  been  be- 
trayed, and  seeing  that  the  vicinity  of  Rome  was  not  a  safe 
situation  for  them,  as  they  had  no  longer  a  good  leader,  re- 
tired to  the  kingdom  of  Naples,  and  joined  the  Calabrians, 
who  were  daily  fighting  with  the  French.  Thus  was  dissi- 
pated the  famous  band  of  assassins  commanded  by  Spatolino. 


TRIALS   OF   TEMPER. 

"  I  SAY  she  is  neither  handsome,  nor  comely,  nor  agreeable, 
in  any  one  respect,  Mr.  Burton;  and  I  cannot  help  consider- 
ing myself  as  rather  humbugged  in  this  business.  Do  you 
account  it  nothing  to  bring  a  man  of  my  temperament  a  chase 
of  three  hundred  miles  on  a  fool's  errand:'" 

"  My  dear  sir,  I  beg  a  thousand  pardons.  But,  really,  if 
you  esteem  Miss  Eliza  Campbell,  your  own  relation*  as  well 
as  mine,  as  neither  handsome,  beautiful,  nor  accomplished, 
why,  I  must  say  you  have  lost,  since  you  went  abroad,  every 
sense  of  distinction — every  little  spark  that  you  once  pos- 
sessed of  taste  and  discernment  in  female  accomplishments. 
Why,  now,  I  suppose,  a  lady,  to  suit  your  taste,  Doctor, 
must  be  black — as  black  as  a  coal,  and  well  tatooed  over  the 
whole  body?" 

"  None  of  your  jibes  and  jeers  with  me,  Mr.  Burton.  I  did 
not,  and  do  not,  mean  to  give  any  offence;  but  it  is  well  known 
to  all  your  friends,  and  has  been  known  to  me  these  thirty 
years,  what  a  devil  of  a  temper  you  have.  As  to  my  taste 
and  discernment  in  female  beauty,  I  have  seen  too  much  of 
17  HH 


350  TALES  OF  OTHER  DAYS. 

life  to  be  directed  in  these  by  a  petty  dealer  in  Galasliieis 
gray-cloth,  corduroy  breeches,  and  worsted  stockings — ;iy, 
even  though  he  add  Kilrnarnock  bonnets,  pirnie  cap*,  and 
mittens,  to  the  inventory.  And,  if  you  had  any  decree  of 
temper,  I  would  tell  you,  that  your  niece,  Miss  Campbell,  is 
one  of  the  worst-looking,  worst-conditioned  middle-aged 
women,  that  I  ever  looked  on !" 

"Temper!  1  short  of  temper!  Why,  I  must  say,  sir,  that 
I  would  not  be  possessed  of  a  temper  as  irritable  as  your's,  to 
be  made  owner  of  all  the  shops  in  this  street,  as  well  as  the 
goods  that  are  in  them.  You  are  a  very  nettle,  sir — a  piece 
of  brown  paper  wet  with  turpentine — a  barrel  of  gunpowder 
that  can  be  ignited  by  one  of  its  own  grains,  and  rly  in  the 
face  of  the  man  who  is  trying  and  exerting  himself  to  preserve 
it.  1  am  a  clothier.  I  do  not  deny  it;  and  think  no  shame 
of  my  business.  But  though  I  have  not  poisoned  so  many 
Pagans  and  Mahometans  as  you  have  done,  nor  been  paid  for 
so  doing,  by  a  thousand  lacs  of  rupees,  1  can  nevertheless 
keep  the  crown  of  the  causeway,  and  look  all  my  creditors  in 
the  face.  Ay,  and  moreover,  1  can  kneel  before  my  Maker, 
sir,  and  entreat  his  blessing  on  myself  and  others,  with  a  clear 
conscience,  and  that  is  more  than  some  of  your  Nabob  sort  of 
people  can  do!  Miss  Campbell  is  too  good — much  too  good — 
for  you,  sir;  and,  I  must  say,  that  I  regret  exceedingly  hav- 
ing invited  you  so  far  to  come  and  insult  her — in  my  presence, 
too,  her  nearest  relation!  I  must  say,  sir,  that  you  had  better 
take  care  not  to  say  as  much  again  as  you  have  said,  else  you 
may  chance  to  be  surprised  at  the  consequence." 

"  Why,  certainly  the  devil  has  entered  personally  into  this 
retailer  of  gray  cloth  and  carpets!  There,  he  would  persuade 
me  that  I  am  irritable  and  passionate,  and  he  the  reverse; 
while,  iA  the  mean  time,  here  has  he  got  into  a  violent  rage, 
and  chafing  like  the  vexed  ocean,  and  I  as  cool  as  a  summer 
evening  in  Kashmere!" 

"  Cool! — you  cool,  sir?  Why,  you  are  at  this  moment  in  a 
furnace  of  a  passion!  Wherefore  else  should  you  knock  on 
my  counter  in  that  way?  You  think  to  intimidate  me,  1  sup- 
pose; but  you  shall  neither  frighten  me  out  of  my  reasonable- 
ness nor  equanimity." 

"  Your  equanimity!  St.  Patrick  save  the  mark!  How  long 
is  it  since  you  were  sued  at  law,  and  heavily  fined,  for  knock- 
ing down  your  shopman  with  the  ellwand!  And  how  many 
honest  customers  have  you  threatened,  across  that  counter, 
kith  the  same  infernal  weapon  before  you  could  bring  your 


TRIALS    OF    TEMPER.  351 

reason  to  control  your  wrath?  And  Vvhen  we  were  at  school 
together,  how  often  did  the  rest  of  the  boys  combine  to  banisn 
you  from  all  their  games,  calling1  you  '  the  crabbed  tailor, 
and  pelting  you  without  rnercy?  And,  what  was  worst  of  all, 
how  often  did  1  get  my  head  broken  in  your  defence?" 

"It  is  too  true — perfectly  true! — I  remember  several  of 
the  circumstances  quite  well.  Give  me  your  hand,  my  old 
and  trusty  friend,  and  come  and  dine  with  me  to-morrow;  for 
my  heart  warms  to  you  when  I  think  of  our  early  friendship, 
and  the  days  of  our  youthful  enjoyments." 

"  And  well  may  mine  warm  to  you,  for  you  assisted  me  out, 
when  no  other  friend  would  venture,  and,  I  had  reason  to 
fear,  put  your  little  credit  right  hardly  to  stake  on  my  account. 
And  do  you  know,  Burton,  that  when  I  left  Scotland,  and 
took  leave  of  all  my  friends,  with  much  probability  that  it 
would  be  for  the  last  time,  not  a  man  or  woman  amongst  them 
shed  tears  at  parting  with  rne  but  yourself.  That  simple  cir- 
cumstance has  never  been  erased  from  my  memory,  nor  ever 
will.  And  before  I  left  India  I  made  a  will,  which  is  safe  in 
the  Register-Chamber  of  Fort  William;  and  whereby,  in  the 
event  of  my  dying  without  a  family,  you  will  find  yourself 
entitled  to  the  half  of  my  fortune." 

"  My  dear  sir,  that  little  pecuniary  matter  has  been  doubly 
repaid  long  aso;  and,  as  for  that  part  of  the  will  which  is 
deposited  at  Fort  William,  and  that  devises  to  me,  I  shall  do 
all  in  my  power  to  render  it  of  none  effect.  Come  and  dine 
with  me  to-morrow." 

"  I  will,  with  all  my  heart." 

"  That's  well.  And  we  will  have  some  conversation  about 
the  exploits  and  joys  of  our  youthful  years:  for,  though  much 
has  passed  over  our  heads,  as  well  as  through  our  hands  and 
our  hearts,  since  that  period,  still  one  single  reminiscence  of 
it  is  like  a  warm  blink  of  sunshine  in  a  winter  day.  I  have 
often  wondered,  Doctor,  what  it  is  that  makes  the  recollec- 
tions of  youth  so  delightful;  for,  as  far  as  I  remember  my 
sensations  at  that  time,  they  were  anything  but  desirable,  my 
joys  being  transient,  and  wofully  mingled  up  with  vexations 
and  disappointments." 

"  There  is  something  in  the  buoyancy  of  youthful  spirits  so 
akin  to  happiness,  that  the  existence  of  the  one  almost  implies 
the  presence  of  the  other.  The  ardency  of  hope,  the  first 
breathings  of  youthful  affection,  all  render  that  a  season  to 
be  thought  on  with  delight.  Have  you  not  some  daughter* 
of  your  own,  Mr.  Burton?" 


TRIALS    OF    TEMPER.  353 

surprised  at  meeting-  with  so  much  elegance,  conjoined  with 
youth.  He  is  certainly  the  most  engaging  and  courteous 
gentleman  I  have  ever  seen,  and  has  already  made  me  an 
offer,  which  I  think  it  would  be  imprudent  in  me  to  reject. 
As  I  have  much  to  say  to  you  on  this  subject,  I  will  come 
down  and  see  you  in  the  coach  to-morrow. 
"  Your  ever  affectionate  niece, 

"  ELIZA  CAMPBELL." 

"  So,  the  Nabob  has  been  hoaxing  me  all  this  while,"  said 
the  clothier  to  himself,  chuckling.  He  then  laughed  at  Miss 
Campbell's  mistake  about  his  friend's  age,  and  slily  remarked, 
that  money  was  all  powerful  in  modifying  ages  to  suit  each 
other.  After  considering  the  matter  a  little  more  seriously, 
he  became  suspicious  that  some  mistake  had  occurred,  for  he 
knew  it  to  be  his  friend,  the  Doctor's,  disposition  always  to 
speak  his  sentiments  rather  too  freely;  and,  in  the  present 
instance,  he  seemed  to  be  quite  chagrined,  and  out  of  humour, 
whenever  Miss  Campbell  was  named.  The  good  clothier 
had  a  sincere  affection  for  his  niece,  and,  having  a  large 
family  of  his  own  to  provide  for,  he  was  anxious  to  see  her 
settled  in  life  by  a  respectable  marriage,  particularly  as  she 
had  of  late  begun  to  be  noted  as  a  great  beauty,  and  was 
toasted  by  the  beaux.  So  the  clothier  remained  involved  in 
a  puzzle  until  the  next  day,  when  his  niece  arrived;  and  still, 
from  her  he  could  learn  nothing,  but  that  all  was  as  it  should 
be.  He  asked  who  introduced  Dr.  Brown  to  her.  It  was  the 
very  friend  to  whom  the  clothier  had  written,  to  perform  that 
friendly  office.  He  made  her  describe  Dr.  Brown's  person 
and  address,  and,  as  far  as  the  clothier  could  see,  they  cor- 
responded to  a  very  tittle.  Very  well,  thinks  the  clothier  to 
himself,  as  I  am  uncertain  whether  the  crabbed  loon  will 
oome  to  dinner  to-day  or  not,  I  will  say  nothing  about  it,  and 
then  I  shall  see  how  the  two  are  affected  when  they  meet. 

Four  o'clock  came,  so  the  clothier  went  home  to  his  house, 
and  put  on  his  black  coat  and  silk  stockings;  and  then  he 
paced  up  and  down  his  little  snug  parlour,  which  served  as  a 
drawing-room,  with  much  impatience,  going  every  five  minutes 
up  stairs  to  look  out  at  the  window. 

"  Who  dines  with  my  uncle  to-day?"  said  Miss  Campbell 
to  her  cousin,  Ellen  Burton; — "  I  see  you  have  an  extra  cover 
set,  and  he  seems  rather  in  the  fidgets  because  his  guest  is 
not  come." 

H  H  2 


354  TALES  OF  OTHER  DAYS. 

"  I  do  not  know  who  it  is,"  returned  Miss  Burton;  "he 
merely  said  that  he  expected  a  stranger  to  dine  with  him  to- 
day— some  English  bagman,  I  suppose.  We  have  these 
people  frequently  with  us;  but  I  never  regard  them,  always 
leaving  them  with  my  father,  to  consult  about  markets  and 
bargains,  as  soon  as  dinner  is  over;  and  we  will  leave  them 
the  same  way  to-night,  and  go  to  Mrs.  Innes's  grand  tea- 
party,  you  know." 

"  O,  by  all  means." 

With  that,  the  Doctor  entered,  and  was  welcomed  by  a 
hearty  and  kindly  shake  of  the  hand;  and,  leading  him  for- 
ward, Burton  said,  "  This  is  my  daughter  Ellen,  sir,  and  her 
sister  Jane."  Of  Miss  Campbell  he  made  no  mention,  con- 
ceiving that  she  and  the  Doctor  were  well  acquainted  before. 
But,  either  the  Doctor  and  she  had  not  been  acquainted 
before — or  else  the  room  was  so  dark  that  the  Doctor  could 
not  see  distinctly,  (for  he  was  very  much  out  of  breath,  which 
mazes  the  eye-sight  a  great  deal) — or  the  beauty  of  the 
young  ladies  had  dazzled  him — or  some  unaccountable  cir- 
cumstance had  occurred;  for  the  Doctor  did  not  recognize 
Miss  Campbell,  nor  did  the  young  lady  take  any  notice  of 
him.  On  the  contrary,  Jane  Burton  being  only  a  little  girl, 
and  below  the  Doctor's  notice  at  that  time  of  night,  he  took 
the  other  two  for  the  clothier's  daughters,  and  addressed  them 
as  such  all  the  time  of  dinner.  The  two  young  giglets,  being 
amused  by  the  simple  mistake,  encouraged  the  stranger  in  it, 
answering  to  their  names,  and  quizzing  one  another  about  the 
bagman  and  his  patterns,  of  all  which,  the  Doctor  understood 
not  one  word;  but  the  clothier  thought  it  altogether  a  very  odd 
business;  yet,  he  carved  his  beef  and  his  chuckies,  and  held 
his  peace,  suffering  the  girls  to  have  out  their  joke,  deeming 
it  all  affectation  on  Miss  Campbell's  part,  and  some  strange 
misconception  of  the  Doctor's,  which  he  resolved  to  humour. 

The  Doctor  was  so  polite  and  attentive  to  the  young  ladies, 
and  appeared  so  highly  delighted  with  them,  that  they  were 
insensibly  induced  to  stay  longer  at  table  than  they  intended, 
and,  on  their  going  away,  he  conducted  them  to  the  door, 
kissed  both  their  hands,  and  said  a  number  of  highly  flattering 
things  to  them.  On  again  taking  his  scat,  being  in  high 
spirits,  he  said,  "  Why,  in  the  name  of  wonder,  my  dear 
friend,  should  you  endeavour  to  put  grist  by  your  own  mill, 
as  the  saying  is  ?  These  daughters  of  yours  are  by  far  the 
most  accomplished  and  agreeablo  young  ladies  whom  I  have 


TRIALS    OF    TEMPER.  355 

Been  since  my  return  from  India.  The  eldest  is  really  a 
master-piece,  not  only  of  nature's  workmanship,  but  of  all 
that  grace  and  good-breeding  can  bestow." 

"  I  thank  you  kindly,  sir;  I  was  afraid  they  would  be  a 
little  too  fair  of  complexion  for  your  taste.  Prav,  have  you 
never  met  with  that  eldest  one  before  ?  for  it  struck  me  that 
you  looked  as  if  you  had  been  previously  acquainted." 

"  How  was  it  possible  I  could  ever  have  seen  her?  But 
you  know  a  bachelor  of  my  years  assumes  a  privilege  with 
young  ladies,  which  would  be  widely  out  of  place  with  our 
juniors,  while  it  not  unfrequently  has  the  effect  of  rendering 
us  the  greater  favourites  of  the  two.  It  is  quite  well  known, 
Mr.  Burton,  what  my  errand  to  Britain  is  at  this  time.  I  have 
never  concealed  it  from  you.  It  is  to  obtain  a  wife;  and  now, 
to  receive  one  out  of  your  family,  and  from  your  own  hand, 
would  be  my  highest  desire;  settlements  are  nothing  between 
us.  These  shall  be  of  your  own  making.  Your  eldest 
daughter,  the  tallest  I  mean,  is  positively  the  most  charming 
woman  I  ever  saw.  Bestow  her  upon  me,  and  I  am  the 
happiest  man  in  his  Majesty's  dominions." 

"  You  shall  have  her,  Doctor — you  shall  have  her,  with  all 
my  heart;  and  I  think  I  have  a  small  document  on  hand,  to 
show  that  you  can  likewise  have  her  consent  for  the  asking, 
if,  indeed,  you  have  not  obtained  it  already." 

"  I  will  double  your  stock  in  trade,  sir,  before  I  leave  this 
country,  if  you  realize  this  promise  to  me.  My  jaunt  from 
India  beyond  the  Ganges  is  likely  to  be  amply  compensated. 
Why,  the  possession  of  such  a  jewel  is  worth  ten  voyages 
round  the  world,  and  meeting  all  the  lines  at  Musselburgh. 
But  I'll  warrant  I  may  expect  some  twitches  of  temper-from 
her — that  I  may  reckon  upon  as  a  family  endowment." 

"  And  will  there  be  no  equivalent  on  the  other  side?  No 
out-breakings  of  violence,  outrage,  and  abuse?  The  Ethiopian 
cannot  change  his  skin,  nor  the  leopard  his  spots;  no  more 
can  he  of  an  unruly  temper  sit  beneath  the  sway  of  reason. 
At  all  events,  the  reflection  on  me  and  my  family  comes  with 
a  bud  grace  from  such  a  firebrand  as  yourself?" 

•'  Stop,  for  Heaven's  sake,  my  good  friend,  stop;  let  us  not 
mar  so  excellent  a  prospect,  by  sounding  the  jarring  strings 
of  our  nature  together.  Why,  sir,  whenever  a  man  comes 
within  the  bounds  of  your  atmosphere,  he  treads  on  phos- 
phorus— he  breathes  it,  and  is  not  for  a  moment  certain  that 
he  may  not  be  blown  up  in  an  electric  flash.  Why  get  into 
such  a  rage  at  a  good-natured  joke?" 


356  TALES  OF  OTHER  DAYS. 

"  It  was  a  very  ill-natured  joke;  and  I  have  yet  to  learn 
that  yon  ever  did  a  genuinely  good-natured  thing1  in  your 
life.  Even  now,  you  are  all  this  while  playing  at  hide-and- 
seek  with  me — playing  at  some  back  game,  that  I  cannot 
comprehend,  in  order  to  make  a  fool  of  me.  Do  you  wish 
me  to  tell  you  what  I  think  of  you,  sir?" 

"  And  pray  what  do  I  care  what  you  think  of  me?  Does  it 
any  way  affect  me  what  may  be  the  opinion  of  such  a  being 
as  you  ? — You  think  of  me!" 

"  There  goes!  There  goes  the  old  man,  with  all  his  infir- 
mities on  his  head!" 

"  Who  is  an  old  man,  Mr.  Burton?  Who  is  an  old  man 
full  of  infirmities?  Old! — to  your  teeth,  sir,  you  are  years 
older  than  myself." 

"  Do  you  know,  sir,  who  you  are  speaking  to,  sir?  or 
whose  house  you  are  in,  sir?" 

"  Yes,  I  do,  sir.  I  know  very  well  whose  house  I  am  in, 
and  whose  house  I  shall  soon  be  out  of,  too;  and  whose  house 
I  shall  never  enter  again  as  long  as  I  live.  Do  I  not  know 
all  these,  sir?  What  you  think  of  me,  forsooth  !  I  have 
thought  more  of  you  than  ever  it  behoved  me  to  have  done; 
and  this  is  the  reception  I  have  met  with  in  return !" 

"  Now,  pardon  me  this  once,  Doctor,  and  I  shall  never  get 
angry  with  you  again.  I'll  bear  all  your  infirmities  with 
the  patience  of  Job;  but  you  must  not  leave  my  house  in  this 
humour." 

"  My  infirmities,  sir?  What  do  you  mean  by  my  infirmi- 
ties? And  who  the  devil  is  to  bear  with  yours,  sir?  I 
assure  you  it  shall  not  be  me!  That  I  was  once  obliged  to 
you,  I  confess,  and  that  I  have  long  thought  on  you  with  the 
affection  of  a  brother,  I  likewise  confess;  but" • 

"  Hold  there.  Go  no  farther  at  present,  until  the  furnace- 
heat  of  your  temper  be  somewhat  allayed.  We  are  friends, 
and  must  be  friends  as  long  as  we  live,  notwithstanding  of 
our  failings.  We  have  all  much  to  forgive  one  another  in 
this  life.  But  you  took  me  so  short,  when  it  was  Miss  Camp- 
bell only  that  1  wanted  to  talk  about." 

"  Miss  Campbell  whom  you  wanted  to  talk  about!  A 
singular  subject,  truly,  so  immediately  after  the  cessation  of 
hostilities.  I  tell  you  once  for  all,  Mr.  Burton,  that  I  will 
have  nothing  to  do  with  Miss  Campbell — nothing  to  say  to 
her;  for  she  is  absolutely  my  aversion." 

"  It  is  false,  sir — every  word  of  it  is  false;  for  you  shall 
have  to  say  to  her  and  do  with  her  both,  and  she  is  not  your 


TRIALS    OF    TEMPER.  357 

aversion.  Nay,  do  not  go  to  get  into  one  of  your  boundless 
fits  of  rage  again,  for  out  of  your  own  mouth  will  I  condemn 
vou;  and,  if  you  deny  your  own  words  and  mine,  I  will  show 
vou  the  lady's  writ  arid  signature  to  the  fact." 

"  I  was  not  even  able  to  say  a  civil  thing  to  the  lady." 

"  You  were.  You  said  the  most  civil  things  to  her  that 
you  could  invent.  You  made  an  offer  of  your  hand  to  her, 
and  you  made  the  same  offer  to  me." 

"  I'll  fight  the  man,  either  with  sword  or  pistols,  who  would 
palm  such  an  imposition  on  me." 

The  clothier  made  no  answer  to  this,  save  by  handing  over 
Miss  .Campbell's  note  to  the  astonished  physician,  who  read  as 
follows: — " '  I  am  quite  delighted  with  your  friend,  Dr.  Brown.' 
Hem! — Thank  you,  Miss  Eliza  Campbell.  So  is  not  his 
friend,  Dr.  Brown,  with  you,  I  assure  you.  '  I  expected  to 
have  met  with  an-  elderly  gentleman,  but  was  agreeably  sur- 
prised'  Oho!  hem,  hem!  What  is  all  this ?  The  girl  has 

some  sense  and  discernment,  though;  for,  do  you  know,  I  am 
never  taken  for  a  man  above  thirty!" 

"  That,  I  think,  does  not  show  much  discernment  either  in 
them  or  in  her." 

"  I  beg  pardon,  sir;  I  only  meant  to  say  that  the  gin  saw 
with  the  same  eyes  as  the  generality  of  mankind,  which,  at 
least,  manifests  some  degree  of  common'sense.  But  it  is  all 
very  well;  1  see  through  the  letter — a  trap  to  catch  a  badger, 
I  suppose.  As  to  the  insinuation  that  I  made  her  an  offer, 
she  has  made  it,  or  dreamed  it,  or  conceived  it,  of  herself, 
one  way  or  other;  for  the  deuce  an  offer  I  made  to  her,  of 
any  sort  whatever." 

"  Why,  now,  Doctor,  the  whole  of  your  behaviour  on  this 
occasion,  is  to  me  a  complete  mystery;  for  the  young  lady 
who  sat  on  your  right  hand  to-day  at  table,  is  no  other  than 
the  same  Miss  Campbell,  my  niece,  whom  you  have  been  all 
along  so  undeservedly  abusing." 

"  Are  you  telling  the  truth,  Mr.  Burton  ?  Are  you  not 
dreaming? — I  see  you  are  telling  me  the  truth.  Why,  then, 
did  you  introduce  them  to  me  as  your  daughters  ?" 

"  I  introduced  my  two  daughters  only,  believing  that  you 
two  were  perfectly  acquainted  before." 

"  She  has  then  been  introduced  to  me  in  a  mask.  There 
is  not  a  doubt  of  it.  She  has  spoken  to  me  under  a  disguise 
of  false  form  and  false  features,  yet,  I  thought  all  the  while 
that  I  recognized  the  voice.  And,  was  yon  lovely,  adorable 
creature,  with  the  auburn  hair  and  dark  eyes,  the  seamew's 


358  TALES  OF  OTHER  DAYS. 

neck,  and  the  swan's  bosom,  the  same  who  wrote  that  pretty 
card  about  me." 

"  The  same,  I  assure  you." 

"  Give  it  me  again,  that  I  may  kiss  it,  and  look  at  every 
elegant  letter  it  contains.  I  have  had  flatterers  of  the  sex, 
black  and  white,  brown  and  yellow,  but  never  before  received 
flattery  from  such  a  superlative  being  as  she  is.  Where  are 
the  ladies  ?  Let  us  go  to  them  and  have  tea,  for  I  have  an 
intense  longing  to  look  on  the  angel  again.  How  right  you 
were  in  your  estimation  of  the  young  lady,  and  how  grievously 
I  was  in  the  wrong!  I  would  now  shoot  any  man  who  dared 
to  use  such  language  of  her  as  I  did.  I  would  rather  she  had 
been  your  daughter,  though,  for  the  sake  of  the  days  of  larig- 
syne,  even  though  she  is  my  own  half- cousin  by  the  mother's 
side." 

Never  was  there  a  more  impassioned  lover  than  the  Doc- 
tor was  with  this  fair  cousin;  he  raved  of  her,  and  fumed  with 
impatience,  when  he  found  she  had  gone  to  Mrs.  Innes's 
party,  and  that  he  could  not  see  her  again  that  night.  He 
lost  no  time,  however,  in  writing  out  the  schedule  of  a  con- 
tract— a  most  liberal  one — and  to  this  scroll  he  put  his  name, 
desiring  his  friend  to  show  Miss  Campbell  the  writing,  prepa- 
ratory to  his  visit  the  next  day.  The  clothier  did  this,  and 
found  his  lovely  wfrd  delighted  with  the  match,  who  ac- 
knowledged that  the  annual  sum  settled  on  her,  was  four 
times  what  she  expected  with  such  an  agreeable  husband; 
and,  although  she  begged  for  time  and  leisure  to  make  some 
preparations,  yet,  at  her  kind  uncle's  request,  she  unhesi- 
tatingly put  her  namo  to  the  document,  by  way  of  acqui- 
escence; and,  thus  was  the  agreement  signed  and  settled,  and 
wanted  only  the  ratification  of  the  parson  to  render  it  per- 
manent. He  then  informed  her,  that  the  Doctor  would  wait 
on  her  next  day,  to  ask  her  formally,  and  then  they  might 
settle  on  such  time  for  the  marriage  as  suited  both. 

Next  day,  the  Doctor  arrived  at  an  early  hour,  and  found 
the  young  lady  dressed  like  an  Eastern  princess  to  receive 
him,  and  in  the  highest  glee  imaginable;  but,  as  he  did  not 
then  know  the  success  of  his  offer,  he  kept  aloof  from  the 
subject  till  the  arrival  of  his  friend,  the  clothier.  The  latter, 
perceiving  his  earnest  impatience,  took  him  into  another 
apartment,  and  showed  him  the  lady's  signature  and  accept- 
ance. Never  was  there  a  man  so  uplifted.  The  intelligence 
actually  put  him  beside  himself,  for  he  clapped  his  hands, 
shouted — hurra!  threw  up  his  wig,  and  jumped  over  one  o« 


TRIALS    OF    TEMPER.  359 

the  chairs.  His  joy  and  hilarity  during  dinner,  were  equally 
extravagant — there  was  no  whim  nor  frolic  which  he  did  not 
practise.  He  drank  tops  and  bottoms  with  the  young  lady 
every  glass,  and,  at  one  time,  got  on  his  legs  and  made  a 
long  speech  to  her,  the  tenor  of  which  she  did  not,  or  pre- 
tended that  she  did  not,  comprehend;  but  all  the  family 
group  applauded  him;  so  that  he  was  elated,  and  even  drunk 
with  delight. 

Not  being  able  to  rest,  by  reason  of  the  fervour  of  his  pas- 
sion, he  arose  shortly  after  dinner,  and,  taking  his  friend,  the 
clothier,  into  the  other  room,  requested  of  him  to  bring  mat- 
ters to  a  verbal  explanation  forthwith.  He  accordingly  sent 
for  Eliza,  who  looked  rather  amazed  when  she  entered,  and 
saw  only  these  two  together. 

"  Come  away,  my  dear  Eliza,"  said  her  uncle;  "  take  a  seat 
here,  and  do  not  look  so  agitated,  seeing  the  business  is 
already  all  but  finished.  My  friend,  Dr.  Brown,  has  come 
down  to-day  for  the  purpose  of  having  a  ratification  of  your 
agreement  from  your  own  hand,  and  your  own  mouth." 

"  Very  well,  my  dear  uncle;  though  I  see  no  occasion  for 
hurrying  the  business,  I  am  quite  conformable  to  your  will  in 
that  respect.  Why  did  not  Dr.  Brown  come  to  dinner? 
Where  is  he?" 

I  wish  I  had  seen  the  group  at  this  m'oment;  or,  had  Mr. 
David  Wilkie  seen  it,  and  taken  a  picture  from  it,  it  would 
have  been  ten  times  better.  The- Doctor's  face  of  full-blown 
joy  was  changed  into  one  of  meagre  consternation,  nothing  of 
the  ruddy  glow  remaining,  save,  on  the  tip  of  his  nose.  The 
internal  ligaments  that  supported  his  jaws,  were  loosened,  and 
they  fell  down  as  he  gazed  on  the  clothier:  the  latter  stared 
at  Eliza,  and  she  at  both  alternately.  It  was  a  scene  of  utter 
bewilderment,  and  no  one  knew  what  to  think  of  another. 
The  clothier  was  the  first  to  break  silence. 

"  What  ails  you,  my  dear  niece  ?"  said  he.  "  Are  you 
quizzing?  or  are  you  dreaming?  or  have  you  fallen  into  a  fit 
of  lunacy  ?  I  say,  what  is  the  matter  with  you,  child  ?  Is  not 
this  my  friend,  Dr.  Brown,  whom  I  have  known  from  his 
childhood? — the  gentleman  whom  I  sent  for  to  be  introduced 
to  you;  and  the  gentleman,  too,  to  whom  you  have  given 
yourself  away,  and  signed  the  gift  by  an  irrevocable  deed?" 

"  What!  to  this  old  gentleman?  Dear  uncle,  you  must 
excuse  me,  that  I  am  in  a  grievous  error,  and  a  quandary  be- 
sides. Ha,  ha,  ha! — Hee,  hee,  hee!  Oh,  mercy  on  us!  1 
shall  expire  with  downright  laughing." 


360  TALES  OF  OTHER  DAYS. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  such  insulting  behaviour,  madam;' 
Have  I  come  here  to  be  flouted,  to  be  cheated,  to  be  baited 
by  a  pack  of  terriers,  with  an  old  fox-hound  at  their  head  ? 
But  beware,  madam,  how  you  press  the  old  badger  too 
hard.  I  have  your  signature  here,  to  a  very  serious  deed, 
signed  before  witnesses,  and,  if  you  do  not  fulfil  your  engage- 
ment to  me,  I  have  you  at  my  mercy;  and  I'll  use  the  power 
which  the  deed  puts  in  my  hands — use  it  to  the  utmost — 
make  yourself  certain  of  that." 

"  Pray  sir.  do  not  get  into  such  a  rage,  lest  you  terrify  me 
out  of  my  wits.  I  am  but  a  poor  timorous  maiden,  sir,  and 
not  used  to  so  much  obstreperousness;  yet,  I  have  so  much 
spirit  in  me,  that  I  shall  never  be  imposed  upon  by  such 
effrontery — never." 

"  Mercy  on  us!"  exclaimed  the  clothier;  "we  shall  all 
go  in  a  flame  together,  and  be  consumed  by  collision.  My 
dear  niece,  you  know  not  what  you  are  doing  or  saying.  This 
is  no  person  to  be  despised,  but  the  celebrated  Dr.  Brown, 
from  India,  chief  of  the  medical  staff  of  a  whole  Presidency — 
your  own  kinsman — my  friend,  of  whom  you  approved  in 
your  note  to  me,  and  in  conjunction  with  whom  yon  have 
signed  a  contract  of  marriage.  So,  none  of  your  bantering 
and  flagaries;  for,  have  him  you  must,  and  have  him  you 
shall.  The  deed  cannot  now  be  annulled  but  by  mutual  con- 
sent." 

"  Well,  then,  it  shall  never  be  farther  ratified  by  me. 
This  may  be  your  Dr.  Brown,  but  he  is  not  mine;  and, 
however  worthy  he  may  be,  he  is  not  the  man  of  my  choice." 

"  Is  not  this  the  gentleman  of  whom  you  wrote  to  me  in 
such  high  terms  of  approval?" 

"  That  the  gentleman !  Dear  uncle,  where  would  nr* 
seven  senses  have  been,  had  that  been  he?" 

"  And  is  this  not  the  lady,  sir,  whom  you  met  in  Edin- 
burgh  ?" 

"  I  know  nothing  at  all  about  it.  If  this  be  not  she,  I  lik~ 
her  worse  than  the  other." 

"  There  is  some  unfortunate  mistake  here.  Pray  Dr 
Brown,  who  was  it  that  introduced  you  to  tlu  lady,  with 
whom  you  met?" 

"  Your  friend,  Mrs.  Wright,  to  be  sure;  whom  else  could 
it  have  been  ?" 

"  And  you  did  not  see  Mr.  Anderson,  then?" 

"  No;  but  I  left  your  letter  at  his  office,  thinking  there 
might  be  something  of  business." 


TRIALS    OF    TEMPER.  361 

"  There  it  goes!  Mrs.  Wright  has  introduced  you  to  a 
wrong  Miss  Campbell,  and  Mr.  Anderson  has  introduced  a 
wrong  Dr.  Brown  to  her.  Plague  on  it,  for  you  cannot  now 
throw  a  stone  in  Edinburgh,  but  you  are  sure  to  hit  either  a 
Brown  or  a  Campbell." 

This  was  simply  the  case: — The  clothier  wrote  to  his 
friend,  Mrs.  Wright,  to  find  means  of  introducing  the  bearer, 
Dr.  Brown,  to  their  mutual  friend,  Miss  Elizabeth  Campbell, 
Mrs.  Wright,  having  an  elderly  maiden  sister  of  that  name, 
mistook,  in  perfect  simplicity  of  heart,  the  term  mutual  friend, 
and,  without  more  ado,  introduced  the  Doctor  to  her  sister. 
Now,  the  Doctor  knew  perfectly  well,  that  the  other  letter, 
winch  he  carried  to  Mr.  Anderson,  related  likewise  to  some 
meeting  with  Miss  Campbell,  but,  not  caring  about  any  such 
thing,  he  merely  popped  the  letter  into  the  shop  as  he  passed; 
and,  Mr.  Anderson,  knowing  nothing  about  Dr.  Brown's 
arrival  from  India,  sent  for  the  only  unmarried  Dr.  Brown, 
whom  he  knew,  and  introduced  him  to  Mr.  Burton's  niece,  as 
desired,  and  there  the  attachment  proved  spontaneous  and 
reciprocal. 

Miss  Campbell,  finding  now  that  she  was  in  a  bad  predica- 
ment, having  given  her  heart  to  one  gentleman,  and  her 
written  promise  to  another,  threw  herself  on  the  old  Doctor's 
mercy,  explained  the  mistake,  and  the  state  of  her  affections, 
and  besought  him  to  have  pity  on  a  poor  orphan,  whose 
choice  might  be  wrong,  but  which  she  was  incapable  of 
altering.  The  worthy  Esculapius  of  the  East  was  deeply 
affected.  He  took  both  the  young  lady's  hands  in  his,  kissed 
first  the  one,  and  then  the  other,  and,  invoking  on  her  all 
earthly  happiness,  he  not  only  returned  her  the  bond,  but, 
along  with  it,  a  cheque  on  his  banker  for  a  considerable  sum, 
as  a  marriage-present. 

Miss  Campbell  was  shortly  after  married  to  a  dashing 
student  of  medicine,  and  they  now  reside  in  a  distant  province, 
very  poor,  and  not  over  happy;  and  Dr.  Brown  married  the 
eldest  daughter  of  his  old  benefactor,  a  simple,  modest,  and 
unassuming  young  creature,  whom  he  carried  off  with  him  to 
the  paradise  of  India,  and  placed  her  at  the  head  of  a  mag- 
nificent Eastern  establishment.  I  have  seen  several  of  her 
letters,  in  all  of  which,  she  writes  in  the  highest  terms  of  her 
happiness  and  comforts.  The  two  old  friends  quarrelled  every 
day,  while  together;  but,  at  parting,  they  both  shed  the  warm 
tears  of  affection,  and  words  of  regret  passed  between  theiu, 
such  as  to  be  remembered  for  ever. 


362 

THE  PREDICTION. 
A   TALE   OF   NEW-YEAR'S   EVE. 

AFTER  an  absence  of  four  years,  I  was  again  beneath  the 
same  roof  from  which  I  had  been  driven  by  a  deplorable 
event.  "  Well,"  said  my  sister,  "  was  I  not  right  when  I 
told  you  that  Ferdinand  would  come  a  day  earlier,  and  take 
us  by  surprise?  I  am  glad  that  my  prediction  is  fulfilled,  for 
we  shall  to-day  keep  New- Year's  Eve,  as  we  do  every  year; 
and  so,"  continued  she,  turning  to  me,  "  you  will  see  all  your 
friends  assembled  here  about  you." 

These  friends  accordingly  met,  and  were  seated  round  the 
tea-table,  where  I  had  to  answer  a  thousand  questions.  Bv 
and  bye  a  pause  ensued:  gaiety,  which,  like  a  beautiful 
bu"  rfly,  had  fluttered  about  and  delighted  us  with  its  brilliant 
colours,  would  not  immediately  settle  again  upon  the  circle. 
I  had  not  become  a  stranger  to  the  company;  all  received 
me  with  equal  cordiality;  but  every  meeting,  after  a  long 
absence,  is  accompanied  with  a  pleasing  pain.  Words  failed 
me,  in  the  fulness  of  my  happiness;  and  the  day  itself  served, 
as  it  always  does,  to  make  uie  grave  and  melancholy.  Per- 
sons of  coarse  minds  alone  can  treat  New- Year's  Eve  as  a 
Bacchanal:  to  me  this  day  has  something  extremely  solemn; 
every  parting  is  painful,  but  that  of  time  the  most  painful  of 
all.  There  is  no  other  parting  but  leaves  behind  the  soothing 
balm  of  hope:  even  at  the  grave  of  our  best  beloved  we  are 
sensible  of  its  efficacy:  time  alone  sinks  us  without  hope  in 
the  bottomless  ocean  of  eternity.  Within  hearing  of  the 
simple  incessantly-repeated  sound  of  the  pendulum,  I  can 
neither  read,  write,  nor  think:  its  every  stroke  seems  to  cry 
aloud,  "  I  am  gone,  never  to  return!"  Every  second  is  death 
to  me. 

My  gentle  and  accomplished  niece,  Ellen,  interrupted  this 
silence.  "  My  dear  uncle,"  said  she,  colouring,  "  has  been 
already  teased  with  so  many  questions,  that  he  needs  some 
rest.  If  I  should  not  be  thought  too  bold,  I  would  hazard  a 
proposal  for  the  general  amusement,  which  has  in  it  nothing 
discordant  with  the  feelings  that  fill  the  bosoms  of  us  all,  I 
presume,  on  this  day."  The  whole  company  begged  her  to 
explain,  and  she  thus  proceeded: — "  It  would  be  very  interest- 
ing, and  at  the  same  time  instructive,  if  each  of  the  gentlemen 


THE    PREDICTION.  363 

would  favour  us  with  a  scene  out  of  his  own  life;  but  on  this 
one  condition,  that  the  story  should  relate  to  the  speaker 
himself.  This  is  my  proposal."  It  was  received  with  general 
applause;  I  cordially  acquiesced,  and  was  pleased  to  he 
relieved  from  the  disagreeable  task  of  talking  incessantly  of 
myself.  In  these  narratives  there  was  much  that  was  enter- 
taining and  humorous,  and  they  diffused  a  cheerful  tone 
through  our  little  circle.  Several  of  the  gentlemen  had 
finished  their  stories,  when  we  received  the  summons  to 
supper. 

The  repast  was  over,  and  a  formidable  bowl  of  punch 
reeked  on  the  board,  when  Amelia,  with  an  iron  ladle,  con- 
taining melted  lead,  in  her  hand,  entered  the  room.  "  Yes, 
ladies  and  gentlemen,"  cried"she,  "  this  day  and  this  night 
must  have  its  due;  so  come,  and  I  will  tell  your  fortunes." 
She  set  the  ladle  on  the  fire,  placed  a  bowl  of  water  near  it, 
and  seated  herself  at  the  chimney-corner.  The  blaze  threw 
a  magic  light  over  the  fair  girl:  she  was  the  loveliest  fortune- 
teller 1  had  ever  seen. 

The  lead  being  melted,  she  poured  it,  with  comic  gestures, 
into  the  bowl,  and  then  handed  the  fantastic  shapes  formed 
by  the  lead,  in  the  water,  to  the  young  Baroness  of  Burgdorf, 
who  sat  beside  me,  with  the  words,  "  That's  for  you!"  My 
sister  looked  with  a  smile  at  the  figures,  and  she  and  the 
baroness  whispered  together;  but  the  amiable  Mr.  Palm 
interrupted  them.  "  Your  ladyship,"  said  he,  "  will  have  the 
goodness  to  communicate  aloud  what  you  see;  the  whole 
company  is  anxious  to  know  what  it  is:  every  body  con- 
jectures that  there  is  a  cradle  among  the  figures."  The 
ladv,  who  had  been  married  but  three  months,  sought  to  hide 
the  blush  which  suffused  her  beautiful  face,  but  was  obliged, 
after  a  while,  to  look  herself  at  the  figures  which  had  fallen  to 
her  share.  No  sooner  had  she  cast  her  eye  on  them  than 
she  turned  pale,  and  said,  trembling,  to  my  sister,  "  O  Hea- 
vens! my  dear  Caroline,  did  you  take  notice  of  it  all?  See, 
here  is  a  coffin  by  the  side  of  the  cradle:  that  forebodes  my 
death!"  At  these  words  a  fearful  recollection  darted  across 
rny  mind;  I  seized  the  ornen  convulsively,  and  threw  it  into 
the  fire.  "  Dear  uncle,"  said  Amelia,  mildly,  "  don't  be 
angry — 'tis  only  a  joke." — "  My  sweet  girl,"  I  rejoined,  "  I 
once  saw  a  joke  of  this  kind  turn  to  terrible  earnest."  The 
company  solicited  an  explanation,  and,  as  I  had  not  yet 
related  my  story,  and  conceived  that  it  was  incumbent  on  rne 
*v  justify  myself  for  the  violence  of  my  behaviour,  I  prepared  to 


364  TALES  OF  OTHER  DAYS. 

commence  my  narrative.  Lost,  however,  in  the  remem 
brance  of  past  events,  I  gazed  vacantly  before  me:  a  disagree- 
able pause  ensued,  till  my  sister  interrupted  it  with  this 
apology:  "  You  must  excuse  my  brother,"  said  she;  "one  of 
the  most  important  events  of  his  life,  which  the  circumstances 
of  this  evening  have  recalled  to  his  mind,  has  affected  him  in 
this  extraordinary  manner.  As  his  letters  made  me  acquainted 
with  the  particulars,  I  will  relate  them."  She  then  began  as 
follows: — 

"  About  four  years  ago,  Ferdinand  quitted  our  circle  with 
an  agonized  heart;  he  had  lived  in  it  fourteen  years,  and  his 
wishes  did  not  extend  beyond  it:  at  length  the  word  honour 
summoned  him  away;  almost  wholly  unprepared,  he  seated 
himself  in  the  carriage  beside  his  brother,  and  hastened  to 
his  native  city.  Notwithstanding  the  air  of  beauty,  nay,  of 
magnificence,  which  it  had  acquired,  to  him  it  was  nothing 
but  a  ruin  which  the  inhabitants  had  abandoned,  where  now 
dwelt  none  but  strangers,  who  cared  not  for  that  which  had 
been  dear  and  sacred  to  him  in  boyhood.  His  elder  brother 
was  the  father  of  a  family,  and  that,  together  with  his  profes- 
sional duties,  left  him  no  time  to  pay  attention  to  Ferdinand. 
The  latter  found  himself  quite  solitary  in  the  crowded  streets; 
all  his  friends  were  either  dead  or  removed;  and,  to  escape 
the  ennui  which  overwhelmed  him,  he  gladly  joined  the 
patriot  bands  who,  at  that  time,  were  rallying  round  their 
heroic  monarch,  for  the  purpose  of  delivering  Germany  from  a 
foreign  yoke. 

"  In  a  city  of  some  note,  where  the  regiment  to  which  he 
belonged  was  formed,  he  became  acquainted  with  a  young 
man  of  the  same  profession,  and  of  amiable  manners  and 
disposition.  They  soon  became  the  most  intimate  friends. 
Herrmann  was  a  few  years  younger  than  my  brother:  in  his 
character  there  was  an  astonishing  levity,  through  which, 
however,  a  tincture  of  gravity  and  a  certain  enthusiasm,  the 
result  of  education  and  subsequent  events,  would  often  display 
themselves.  The  two  friends  once  sat  in  familiar  conversation 
by  the  watch-fire  in  the  camp.  It  was  a  fine  autumnal  night. 
Around  them  blazed  a  thousand  fires,  and  above  their  heads. 
in  the  azure  firmament,  glistened  numberless  stars:  both  fixed 
their  eyes  devoutly  upon  them,  and  Herrmann  exclaimed, 
'  O  Lord  of  Hosts,  shall  we  fall  fighting  for  our  beloved 
country,  or  shall  we  return  conquerors?'  A  woman,  who 
followed  the  camp  as  a  suttler,  and  who  passed  at  the  same 
time  for  a  fortune-teller,  came  up  to  them,  and  offered  her 


THE    PREDICTION.  «3t)O 

They  bought  something  of  her,  and  wished  her  luck 
in  disposing  of  the  rest  of  her  stock.  On  leaving  them,  she 
had  proceeded  to  some  distance,  when  Herrmann  called  her 
back.  '  Here,  old  dame,'  said  he,  throwing  her  a  guilder, 
'  come  and  tell  us  our  fortunes.'  Ferdinand  held  out  his 
hand  as  she  desired,  and,  in'  a  truly  prophetic  tone  she  said, 
1  When  the  cousin  of  a  celebrated  general  is  the  cause  that 
summer  does  not  follow  winter  in  the  circle,  then  some  great 
disaster  will  befall  you.' — '  Nonsense,  mother!'  cried  Herr- 
mann; '  only  tell  me  whether  I  shall  escape  the  perils  of  war. 
and  be  blest  with  long  life:  the  rest  will  follow  of  course 
The  woman  surveyed  his  hand,  and  said,  in  the  same  tone  as 
before,  '  You  will  not  die  till  you  have  walked  through  the 
streets  in  a  steel  coat,  and  been  pursued  with  the  sword  by  a 
magnificent  princely  house.' — '  Well,'  said  tne  young  man, 
'  in  this  case  your  misfortune  and  my  death  will  not  happen 
yet  awhile.' — '  Who  knows?'  muttered  the  woman,  and 
retired.'" 

My  good  sister  had  proceeded  thus  far  in  her  narrative, 
when  I  interrupted  her.  "  Hitherto,"  said  I,  "  you  have 
been  quite  correct  in  your  story;  let  me  proceed.  Your  love 
for  me  might  induce  you  to  attempt  to  excuse  my  raging- 
madness,  and  to  treat  my  folly  with  less  lenity  than  it 
deserves. 

"  The  war  was  triumphantly  terminated;  Herrmann  was 
obliged  to  quit  the  corps,  to  hasten  to  his  dying  father  at 

C ,  and   I  went  with  the  regiment  to  D ,  where  we 

were  most  cordially  received.  During  my  former  sojourn  at 
this  place,  a  duel  had  occurred  there,  which  had  excited  my 
utmost  indignation.  A  Mr.  von  Winter,  a  gambler  by  pro- 
fession, after  reiterated  attempts  to  provoke  a  good-natured 
young  man,  at  length  .insulted  him  so  grossly,  that  a  challenge 
was  the  consequence.  Winter's  adversary  fired  purposely 
wide  of  the  mark;  he,  on  the  contrary,  being  a  capital  shot, 
took  deliberate  aim,  put  down  the  pistol,  and  carefully  wiped 
his  spectacles:  he  repeated  this  abominable  manoeuvre,  and 
would  have  lodged  his  ball  in  the  heart  of  his  opponent,  had 
not  the  portrait  of  his  bride  saved  his  life.  M.  nevertheless 
fell.  Winter  went  up  to  him  as  he  lay  on  the  ground,  and 
with  the  most  unfeeling  sang-froid  exclaimed,  '  What !  not 
dead!  You  are  incredibly  lucky!'  and  then  turned  his  back 
on  him,  with  evident  signs  of  disappointment.  When  the 
affair  was  related  to  me,  I  declared  aloud,  with  abhorrence, 
that,  had  I  been  in  M.'s  place,  I  would  coolly  have  fired  the 


3G6  TALES  OF  OTHER  DAYS. 

second  pistol,  and  taken  care  not  to  rriiss  the  heart  of  the 
scoundrel. 

"  The  festivities  of  onr  reception  were  to  conclude  with 
a  supper,  to  which  the  principal  people  of  the  town  were 
invited.  The  first  person  whom  I  encountered  in  the  room  was 
Winter;  his  look  thrilled  me.  1  felt  as  though  grasped  by 
the  hand  of  an  assassin,  and  forced  in  self-defence  to  be  a 
murderer:  I  could  think  of  nothing  but  of  him:  the  music, 
every  tone,  every  word,  rang  in  my  ears  like  the  hated  name. 
'  Winter!  Winter!'  was  the  cry  which  incessantly  resounded 
in  my  bosom,  and  forced  its  way  to  my  lips;  while  those 
about  me  regarded  me  with  astonishment  as  a  maniac.  At 
length  reason  gained  the  ascendancy;  I  resolved  to  avoid  the 
hateful  object,  and  mingled  with  the  company;  but  presently 
an  irresistible  power  seemed  to  draw  me  again  towards  him. 
My  eyes  involuntarily  followed  him,  and  sought  him  out  in 
the  thickest  of  the  throng.  He  had  disappeared.  Amid 
keen  self-reproaches,  I  went  into  a  room  where  tables  were 
set  out  for  play.  Winter  came  up  to  me,  and  mildly  asked  if 
I  had  a  mind  for  a  game.  I  .roughly  replied,  '  I  never  play 
but  with  a  friend!'  He  turned  coolly  away,  and  went  into 
the  next  apartment,  where  the  bottle  was  circulating.  His 
calmness  vexed  me:  I  construed  his  abrupt  retiring  into 
contempt,  for  which  I  ought  to  call  him  to  account;  and  a 
malicious  spirit  within  me  said,  '  You  are  in  an  ill  humour: 
wine  will  dispel  it  and  cheer  your  heart;  go  join  the  con- 
vivial party  in  the  next  room.'  Presently  I  found  myself  at 
the  table  by  the  side  of  Winter.  Politely  addressing  me, 
he  proposed  to  drink  to  our  safe  return;  but  I  replied  in  the 
same  tone  as  before,  '  I  shall  not  drink  any  wine."  He 
quietly  emptied  his  glass  and  disappeared.  Pacing  up  and 
down  the  hall,  I  followed  the  odious  wretch  like  his  shadow. 
After  supper  he  went  up  to  the  lovely  daughter  of  my  host,  a 
Miss  Summer,  whom  I  had  escorted  to  the  rooms,  and  offered 
his  arm  to  conduct  her  home.  She  thanked  him,  saying 
that  I  had  come  with  her,  and  she  was  sorry  to  be  under  the 
necessity  of  refusing  his  offer.  I  heard  him  remark,  with 
some  degree  of  mortification,  *  This  gentleman  seems  deter- 
mined to  be  for  ever  in  my  way  to-night !'  Not  till  then  did 
my  fancy  attach  a  meaning  to  the  name  of  Summer,  and  an 
unconquerable  impulse  urged  me  to  a  meeting  with  my  foe. 
'  Sir,'  cried  I,  with  offensive  vehemence,  '  this  lady  is  under 
my  protection:  any  insult  to  her  I  consider  as  offered  to 
myself,  and  shall  demand  satisfaction  for  it.'  At  these  words 


THE    PREDICTION.  O07 

Winter  eyed  me,  for  the  first  time,  with  eyes  flashing  fury. 
'  By  Heaven,  captain!'  cried  he,  '  your  clotli  shall  not  give 
von  a  right  to  insult  me:  I  have  just  reason  to  hate  you,  but 
have  always  avoided  you;  whereas  you  seem  to  follow  me 
wherever  I  go.  When  I  could  not  shun  you,  I  behaved  to 
you  with  civility;  but  as  you  are  determined  to  quarrel,  I  am 
your  man.  I  challenge  you  to  meet  me  with  pistols.'  After 
a  pause,  in  which  he  measured  me  with  his  eyes,  he  said, 
contemptuously,  '  We  shall  now  see  whether  the  captain 
will  meet  me  as  calmly  as  he  once  declared  he  should;  and, 
in  spite  of  his  remonstrance,  I  shall  take  leave  to  wipe  my 
spectacles  as  often  as  I  please,  before  I  let  him  feel  my  un- 
erring fire.' 

"  After  this  circumstance  I  was,  as  it  were,  completely 
metamorphosed;  I  was  thoroughly  sensible  of  my  folly  and 
misconduct,  and  returned  with  a  feeling  of  shame  to  my  lodg- 
ings. I  resolved  to  use  all  possible  means  to  conciliate  my 
adversary;  but  every  attempt  proved  abortive;  I  offered  to 
acknowledge  publicly  that  I  repented  my  behaviour,  and 
1  was  ready  to  submit  to  any  mode,  consistent  with  my 
honour,  of  repairing  the  wrong  I  had  done.  Winter,  how- 
ever, coldly  and  peremptorily  declared  that  none  but  a  giddy 
boy  suffered  himself  to  be  hurried  away  by  every  gust  ot 
passion,  and  sought  a  reconciliation  as  readily  as  a  quarrel: 
whereas  he  always  knew  what  he  was  about;  nay,  had  in 
this  instance,  contrary  to  his  custom,  avoided  everything 
likely  to  lead  to  a  hostile  meeting.  All  my  comrades,  nay, 
the  whole  town,  took  the  deepest  interest  in  the  affair,  and 
hoped  that  I  should  chastise  my  adversary,  who  was  in  reality 
a  scoundrel. 

"  Perplexed  with  doubts  what  course  to  pursue  at  the  place 
of  meeting,  I  repaired  to  the  ground.  I  had  formerly  much 
practice  in  firing  at  a  mark  with  pistols,  and  had  attained 
great  expertness  in  the  use  of  those  weapons:  the  life  of  my 
antagonist  was  in  my  hands.  Without  having  yet  made  up 
my  mind  how  to  act,  I  took  my  position.  Winter  eyed  me 
with  contempt.  '  If  you  miss,'  said  he  ironically,  '  I  will 
take  care  to  inform  your  family  of  your  exit.'  A  certain 
degree  of  hatred  sets  the  blood  in  a  ferment,  and  throws  us 
into  a  state  in  which  we  are  not  wholly  masters  of  our 
actions;  but  the  highest  degree,  in  general  diffuses  a  terrible 
calm  over  the  mind:  and  it  was  this  which  now  actuated  me. 
I  had  evidence  of  the  boundless  revenge  of  the  man,  which 
was  prepared  even  to  pursue  me  into  the  grave,  and,  with 


368  TALES  OF  OTHER  DAYS. 

infernal  rancour,  to  feast  itself  on  the  suffering's  of  those  who 
were  nearest  and  dearest  to  me:  my  blood  froze  in  my  veins. 
I  had  anxiously  resorted  to  every  expedient  to  atone  lor  the 
affront  which  I  had  offered:  now  it  was  life  against  life — 1  felt 
that  I  was  of  more  value  than  my  antagonist — I  tired — the 
ball  pierced  his  heart. 

"  But  let  us  turn  from  the  scene:  a  knave  was  punished  by 
the  hand  of  a  hot-headed  young  man,  whom  Providence 
employed  as  its  instrument — that  was  all.  A  human  life  was 
abridg'ed  by  this  event,  but  that  life  was  of  no  value — indeed, 
was  already  forfeited.  1  should  not  have  adverted  to  this 
history,  had  it  not  been  intimately  connected  with  that  of 
my  unfortunate  friend;  nay,  had  it  not  actually  decided  his 
fate. 

"  I  immediately  made  known  the  catastrophe  myself:  the 
judges  consulted  their  moral  feelinsr,  and  not  the  dead  letter 
of  the  law,  and  I  came  off  with  a  slight  arrest.  W  lien  I 
communicated  the  affair  to  Herrmann,  he  replied,  '  The 
prediction  then  is  verified  in  your  case — how  will  it  turn  out 
in  mine?  Think  of  the  Weird  Sisters  in  Macbeth,  and  their 
oracles!'  Without  paying  much  regard  to  his  words,  1  under- 
went my  sentence, '  and,  after  soliciting  and  obtaining  rny 
dismission  from  the  army,  set  out  on  my  travels.  I  visited 
many  countries,  till  at  length  I  could  no  longer  resist  trie 
desire  of  revisiting  the  home  of  my  happy  years.  I  pro- 
ceeded from  France  to  C ,  where  Herrmann  resided. 

The  particulars  which  1  learned  respecting  him  excited  my 
astonishment  and  sorrow.  1  was  informed,  that  he  lived 
quite  secluded,  read  nothing  but  religious  books  of  a  mystical 
nature,  and  was  preparing  himself  for  his  death,  which  he 
fully  expected  to  happen  in  a  very  short  time.  I  hastened 
to  my  friend,  but  at  the  door  of  his  room  was  fixed,  almost 
petrified  to  the  spot.  I  saw  a  gloomy  apartment,  the  walls 
of  which  were  decorated  with  images  of  saints  and  martyrs; 
at  a  table  hung  with  black,  on  which  lay  a  skull  and  a  crucifix, 
sat  Herrmann,  or  rather  his  shadow,  and  seemed  to  be 
arranging  papers.  I  had  left  him  in  the  bloom  of  youth; 
I  beheld  him  again  an  old  man.  He  rose  and  advanced, 
greeting  me  with  a  melancholy  smile  and  a  faint  salutation. 
'  Ah,  Ferdinand!'  said  he,  'it  is  kind  of  you  to  come:  I 
have  much  to  say  to  you  before  I  die.'  A  conversation 
ensued:  I  strove  to  convince  him  of  the  folly  of  his  fear  of 
death;  he  listened  patiently,  without  interrupting  me,  and 
then  replied,  '  Summer  did  not  follow  Winter  in  the  circle, 


THE    PREDICTION.  369 

and  a  great  disaster  befell  you — I  walked  in  a  steel  coat 
through  the  streets,  and  a  magnificent  princely  house  fol- 
lowed me.  My  doom  is  sealed.'  He  then  recapitulated  the 
circumstances  which  had  occurred  since  our  separation,  on 
which  he  grounded  his  firm  belief  in  his  speedy  death.  I  will 
relate  them;  but,  to  elucidate  my  story,  I  shall  begin  with 
my  friend's  early  education. 

"  Herrmann  von  E belonged  to  an  Austrian  family  of 

high  distinction.  As  he  manifested  in  his  earliest  youth  a 
gentle  disposition  and  almost  enthusiastic  character,  and  was 
moreover  the  second  son,  he  Was  placed  for  education  in  a 
convent,  and  destined  for  the  church.  The  pious  fathers 
soon  found  that  Herrmann  possessed  extraordinary  abilities, 
and  an  ardent  love  of  learning;  for  which  reason  they  paid 
particular  attention  to  him:  the  venerable  Father  Celestine 
indeed  took  him  under  his  peculiar  care,  and  at  length  devoted 
himself  exclusively  to  the  instruction  of  the  youth.  The  ex- 
cellent old  man  led  a  truly  holy  life,  which  manifested  itself 
in  acts  of  kindness  and  beneficence  of  every  sort:  to  him  the 
Almighty  was  a  tender  father,  not  a  severe  judge;  and,  as  he 
felt  happy  in  this  belief,  he  was  desirous  of  instilling  it  into 
his  beloved  charge.  Herrmann,  at  the  same  time,  possessed 
extreme  vanity;  and  this  the  worthy  old  man,  instead  of  re- 
pressing, strove  to  direct  it  to  pious  purposes:  he  read  with 
him  the  legends  and  histories  of  saints,  and  pointed  out  in  the 
lives  of  the  martyrs  a  goal  for  human  vanity  and  ambition. 
The  intelligent  Abbot  frequently  reprobated  this  singular  and 
dangerous  system  of  education  pursued  by  the  pious  monk,  and 
declared  '  that  he  would  bring  up  his  pupil  to  be  a  fanatic  for 
God  and  the  faith?'  Celestine  would  then  reply,  '  Is  it  not 
glorious  to  be  a  fanatic  for  God  and  the  faith  ?' — '  Yes,'  re- 
joined the  Abbot;  '  but  ambition  seems  to  me  to  be  a  deceit- 
ful soil:  instead  of  good  sced.it  often  produces  wild  weeds  and 
those  noxions  plants  which  speedily  overrun  the  human  soul.' 
Celestine  smiled,  and  pursued  his  old  track. 

"  The  aged  master  was  not  less  surprised  than  his  pupil, 
when  the  father  of  the  latter  wrote  to  inform  him  of  the  death 
cf  his  .elder  brother,  intimating  that  Herrmann  could  no 
longer  be  educated  for  the  church,  as  the  family  estates 
would  descend  to  him,  and  that,  to  qualify  himself  for  this  new 
sphere,  he  must  speedily  remove  to  a  University.  It  was  wiin 
great  reluctance  that  Herrmann  renounced  his  first  destina- 
tion; his  kind  instructor,  however,  assured  him,  that  he  might 
lead  a  life  highly  useful,  and  at  the  same  time  well  pleasing  to 
18 


370  TALES  OF  OTHER  DAYS. 

God,  in  the  world;  and  his  pupil's  inclinations  yielded  to  his 
remonstrances  and  to  necessity.  A  conductor  of  a  lively 
disposition  accompanied  him  to  a  Protestant  University, 
where  he  soon  found  himself  surrounded  by  dissolute  young 
men.  Herrmann  had  hitherto  been  familiar  only  with  the 
restraint  and  quiet  of  a  monastic  life,  and  its  little  circle  of 
duties,  easily  fulfilled;  now  he  entered  a  new  world,  and 
associated  with  persons  who  seemed  to  regard  this  stage  of 
existence  as  a  fugitive  dream,  in  which  it  was  right  to  grasp 
at  every  pleasure,  and  deemed  him  the  happiest  who  con- 
trived to  enjoy  the  most.  Herrmann  soon  learned  to  mingle 
with  his  jovial  companions,  and  hasten  with  them  from  grati- 
fication to  gratification.  But,  with  his  enthusiasm,  with  his 
childlike  feeling  towards  God  and  virtue,  it  was  impossible 
for  him  to  continue  in  such  society:  this  he  was  soon  con- 
vinced of.  His  religious  notions  were  turned  into  ridicule. 
The  idea  of  being  so  often  made  a  laughing-stock  was  intoler- 
able to  his  vanity;  with  his  superior  understanding  he  strove 
himself  to  raise  doubts  in  his  mind,  to  banish  from  it  the 
reverence  for  legends  of  saints  and  precepts  of  virtue,  and  by 
these  means  transformed  himself  into  an  arrant  scoffer  and 
sceptic. 

"  About  this  time  the  summons  for  the  liberation  of  Ger- 
many was  promulgated.  Herrmann  obeyed  it;  and  this 
event  brought  together  two  persons  who  soon  became  the 
most  intimate  friends:  we  loved  each  other  as  brothers.  With 
a  feeling  of  anxiety  I  watched  him  when  the  prediction  was 
pronounced;  he  seemed  but  to  laugh  with  his  lips,  while  it 
made  a  profound  impression  upon  his  mind.  After  the 
termination  of  the  war,  when  his  grief  for  the  loss  of  his  father 
began  to  abate,  he  lived  for  a  while  to  all  appearance  inwardly 
cheerful  and  content:  but  at  times  he  would  reproach  himself 
for  his  sceptical  principles,  into  which  he  had  been  hurried  by 
empty  vanity. 

"  The  Prince  of  the  country  in  which  Herrmann  resided, 
not  long  afterwards  died.  It  was  an  ancient  custom  there, 
that  at  the  interment  of  the  sovereign,  a  nobleman  of  an 
ancient  family  should  walk  before  the  corpse  in  complete 
armour;  and  this  custom  was  to  be  revived  on  the  present 
occasion.  My  friend,  a  remarkably  handsome  man,  was 
selected  for  this  duty,  which  he  cheerfully  undertook. 

"  The  morning  after  the  interment  of  the  Prince,  Herrmann 
was  sitting  in  his  room  absorbed  in  profound  revery,  when 
the  door  opened  end  a  friend  entered.  '  Well,'  said  he, 


THE    PUKD1CTION.  371 

jocosely,  '  did  you  not  yesterday  find  your  steel  frock  rather 
cumbersome?'  This  question  drove  the  blood  from  his 
cheeks:  he  sat  motionless  for  some  time,  and  at  length  replied, 
in  a  low  but  significant  tone,  '  Your  steel  coat,  you  might 
as  well  have  said.' — '  Why,  yes,'  answered  his  astonished 
friend:  'but  what  ails  you?' — 'And  was  not  the  coffin  a 
magnificent  princely  house  too'?'  asked  Herrmann. — '  One 
of  the  most  magnificent  that  I  ever  saw,'  rejoined  the  other. 
'  But  tell  me  what  all  this  means  ?' — '  My  death,  that's  all, 
responded  Herrmann  faintly,  covering  his  face. 

"  Fr6m  this  moment  he  was  an  altered  creature;  the  early 
impressions  of  youth,  and  his  peculiar  character,  forcibly 
regained  their  ascendancy,  and  his  days  were  clouded  by 
melancholy.  He  regarded  his  speedy  death  as  certain,  and 
awaited  it  as  a  just  punishment  for  his  sins.  In  this  state  I 
found  him.  When  he  had  communicated  the  cause  of  it  to 
me,  I  said,  '  But,  my  dear  friend,  consider  that  the  whole  is 
founded  on  an  accident,  which,  moreover,  has  hut  the  shadow 
of  a  truth:  the  prediction  has  not  been  fulfilled,  as  I  can 
easily  prove.'  He  shook  his  head  incredulously.  '  You 
may  try  to  convince  me,'  he  replied;  '  I  will  listen  to  you; 
but  there  is  no  help  for  me  in  this  world.'  To  show  him  the 
groundlessness  of  his  fear,  I  then  resumed,  with  vivacity, 
'  Unless  you  are  determined  to  lay  all  the  stress  on  a  couple 
of  chance  names,  you  must  admit  that  the  prediction  respect- 
ing me  has  not  been  accomplished  by  the  catastrophe  which 

took  place  at  D .     It  was  to  this  effect:   When  the  cousin 

of  a  celebrated  General  is  the  cause  that  Summer  does  not 
follow  Winter  in  the  circle,  then  some  great  disaster  will 
befall  you.  Now,  there  was  not  a  single  relative  of  any  cele- 
brated General  at  that  entertainment;  and  I  was  the  sole 
cause  that  Emily  was  not  escorted  by  Winter.  Where,  then, 
do  you  find  the  circle  which  is  expressly  mentioned  in  the 
prediction  V  I  shuddered  on  beholding  one  of  the  mysterious 
recesses  of  the  human  mind  exposed  to  my  view;  for  Herr- 
mann smiled  at  my  remark,  as  at  the  simplicity  of  a  child, 
and  said,  '  I  can  easily  show  you  that  the  prediction  has 
been  accomplished  in  all  its  parts.  You  are  yourself  the 
cousin  of  the  General:  your  name  is  Ferdinand — do  you 
recollect  no  hero  of  that  name? — are  you  alone  ignorant  that 
persons  who  have  received  in  baptism  the  same  name  are 
called  name-sakes  or  name-cousins  f — the  old  woman  did  not 
mean  actual  consanguinity.  The  building  in  which  the  enter- 
tainment was  held  is  called  the  Circus;  if  Winter  had  escorted 


372  TALES  OF  OTHER  DAYS. 

Emily,  she  must  have  followed  him  in  the  Circus,  or  Circle; 
you,  the  namesake  of  a  General,  prevented  this  from  taking 
place,  as  you  yourself  admit,  and  so  everything  is  made  out.' 
I  was  horror-struck  at  this  perverse  self-destroying  acute- 
ness.  '  Well,'  I  replied,  '  allowing  this  excessively  far 
fetched  interpretation,  the  prediction  which  relates  to  you 
and  which  you  believe  to  have  been  fulfilled  by  the  funeral 
of  the  Prince,  has  not  even  a  shadow  of  truth.  When  you 
should  walk  through  the  street  in  a  steel  coat,  and  a  magni- 
ficent princely  house  should  pursue  you  with  the  sword,  your 
death  was  to  follow.  The  Prince  died  at  his  country-seat, 
and  was  thence  carried  through  the  garden  to  the  mausoleum: 
of  course  you  walked  through  no  street.' — 'True!'  he  re- 
joined; 'but  the  military  were  drawn  up  on  either  side,  and 
a  double  file  of  this  sort  is  often  called  a  street.' — '  But,'  I 
resumed,  « what  becomes  of  your  magnificent  princely  house, 
which  was  to  pursue  you  with  the  sword  ?'  Prepared  for 
this  objection,  he  said  calmly,  '  At  the  funeral,  the  sword  of 
the  Prince  lay  upon  his  last  magnificent  house,  and  pursued 
or  followed  me.'  Tears  filled  my  eyes,  and  1  was  silent. 

"  I  afterwards  adduced  many  arguments  against  the  predic- 
tion, but  must  confess  that  they  seemed  weak  to  myself.  1 
recollected  how  irresistibly  I  had,  in  my  own  case,  been  im- 
pelled to  the  fulfilment  of  the  oracle;  and  felt  convinced  that 
by  this  ingenious  self-inflicted  torment  he  would  make  the  pre- 
diction come  true.  I  determined  to  leave  no  means  untried 
to  save  him;  I  strove  to  divert  him,  and  to  plunge  him  into 
the  vortex  of  pleasure,  iu  hopes  of  dislodging  the  dark  power 
that  swayed  his  mind:  I  succeeded  beyond  my  expectations. 
Hut  it  was  only  a  wild  transient  joy  produced  by  his  heated 
blood;  blacker  melancholy  than  ever  overwhelmed  him  when 
it  flowed  quietly  in  his  veins.  Often  did  his  gloomy  dread  of 
death  seize  him  in  the  midst  of  pleasure,  and  thrill  him  as 
though  the  chilling  hand  of  a  spectre  had  passed  over  his 
laughing  face.  Thus,  when  once  a  gentleman  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood .nvited  us  to  his  vintage-feast,  when  we  were  encom- 
passed with  the  serenest  sky,  the  clearest  atmosphere,  and  all 
around  was  mirth,  and  joy,  and  happiness,  transported  with 
the  delicious  scene,  I  could  not  help  exclaiming,  '(_)  God! 
how  beautiful  is  this  earth  of  thine!  who  would  wish  for 
death 'f  Herrmann,  who,  almost  in  as  high  spirits  as  formerly, 
stood  joking  amidst  a  detached  group  of  the  company,  was 
suddenly  struck  dumb  by  my  words,  and,  with  a  grave  look, 
kept  his  eyes  fixed  for  a  considerable  time  on  the  ground. 


AN    ADVENTURE    IN    1780.  373    - 

He  then  came  up  to  me,  and,  cordially  grasping  and  pressing 
my  hand,  '  My  dear  Ferdinand,'  said  he,  '  promise  me  one 
thing.  Don't  let  me  be  put  so  far  in  the  dark,  gloomy  ground: 
it  is  too  horrible  an  idea,  to  have  such  a  load  of  cold,  damp 
earth,  filled  with  loathsome  crawling  worms,  pressing  upon 
one's  breast.  A  tin  coffin  !  do  you  hear?'  Such  effusions  of 
the  conviction  which  preyed  upon  him,  were  of  frequent 
recurrence:  all  efforts  to  save  him  proved  ineffectual;  and, 
before  the  end  of  six  weeks,  I  followed  him  to  the  grave." 

For  some  time  after  I  had  finished  my  narrative,  the  com- 
pany sat  absorbed  in  silent  reflection.  The  mansion-house 
clock  proclaimed  the  hour  of  midnight,  and  roused  us  by  its 
solemn  sounds.  We  cheerfully  saluted  each  other  and  the 
new  year,  and  parted  with  mutual  and  cordial  wishes  of 
health  and  happiness. 


AN    ADVENTURE    IN   1780. 

You  often  requested,  my  dear  boy,  that  I  would  relate  to  you 
the  adventure  which  happened  to  me  during  the  riots  of  the 
year  1780,  and  I  as  often  promised  to  gratify  you;  but  no 
opportunity  occurred  before  the  present  moment. 

You  are  aware  that  your  grandfather,  the  worthy  divine 
died  while  I  was  very  young,  leaving  your  aunt  and  myself  as 
the  only  consolation  of  our  widowed  mother.  I  grew  up, 
under  the  kind  and  tender  auspices  of  this  dear  parent,  con- 
scious that  my  subsequent  subsistence  and  success  in  life  de- 
pended entirely  upon  my  own  exertions;  for,  after  the  loss  of 
the  income  which  we  derived  from  my  grandfather's  prefer- 
ment, my  mother's  little  fortune  was  not  more  than  sufficient 
to  maintain  her  and  my  sister  in  the  genteel,  but  quiet  con- 
dition which  they  had  hitherto  enjoyed.  When  I  was  about 
eighteen  years  of  age,  a  friend  in  London  procured  for  me  a 
situation  in  a  very  respectable  mercantile  house;  and  1  then 
quitted,  for  the  first  time  in  my  life,  the  seclusion  of  my 
native  valley.  This,  I  assure  you,  was  no  ordinary  event  in 
my  existence.  I  was  one  of  a  small  community,  the  members 
of  which  were  knit  together  as  much  by  the  ties  of  mutual 
regard,  as  by  those  of  consanguinity.  Besides,  my  father  was  so 
K  K 


374  TALES  OF  OTHER  DAYS. 

revered  and  beloved,  as  the  spiritual  pastor  of  this  well-united 
microcosm,  that  I,  as  well  as  my  mother  and  sister,  shared 
the  good-will  and  esteem  of  our  neighbours.  The  spot, 
moreover,  where  we  dwelt,  was  so  withdrawn  from  the  busy 
world,  that  its  peaceful  solitudes  presented  a  strong-  contrast 
to  the  din  and  uproar  of  that  mighty  metropolis,  which  was 
thenceforth  to  be  the  scene  of  my  occupations.  I  had  many 
kind  and  dear  friends  to  part  with,  and  there  was  no  lack  of 
tears  and  advice,  or  of  ferve'nt  benedictions,  or  more  substan- 
tial (and,  it  may  be,  more  acceptable)  proofs  of  their  esteem 
and  affection.  Kissing  my  weeping  mother  ffnd  sister,  I  left 
mv  home,  and  came  into  a  new  world,  full  of  wonders,  riches, 
and  magnificence.  For  a  while,  I  was  lost  in  amazement  and 
admiration;  but  I  soon  became  accustomed  to  the  change, 
and,  in  a  few  weeks,  was  quite  settled,  although  my  young 
heart  would  often  pant  and  yearn  after  the  green  woods  and 
refreshing  pastures  of  the  sweet  vale  of  C ,  in  Cumber- 
land. 

I  had  the  good  fortune  to  please  my  employers;  and  the 
principal  clerk,  Mr.  Benson,  was  kind  enough  to  say,  that  my 
industry  was  very  creditable,  and  my  respectful  attention  be- 
yond all  praise.  He  was  the  complete  man  of  business. 
There  was  an  air  of  sober,  methodical,  grey  gravity  about 
him,  which  harmonized  well  with  the  quaker-like  simplicity  of 
his  dress;  his  grey  coat,  grey  stockings,  and  grey  hair,  his 
buckled  shoes,  and  the  unostentatious  tie  of  his  milk-white 
cravat,  together  with  the  active  twinkling  of  his  small,  but 
sharp  grey  eyes — all  denoted  the  plain  matter-of-fact  man  of 
business,  and  the  steady,  imperturbable,  passionless  bachelor. 
Like  his  employers,  whom,  by  the  way,  he  almost  worshipped, 
Mat  Benson  (for  so  the  good  man  loved  to  be  called)  was  a 
liberal  and  kind-hearted  man.  He  had  been  received  into 
the  counting-house  when  he  had  not  a  single  friend  in  all  the 
world,  except  a  widowed  mother;  and  he  grew  up  in  the 
service,  with  all  the  devotion  and  regard  of  true  gratitude  to 
his  mercantile  patrons.  I  was  fortunate  enough  to  make  him 
my  friend;  and  it  is  to  this  friendship  that  I  may  justly 
attribute  all  my  success  in  life.  It  is  true,  I  made  my 
appearance  in  the  counting-house,  regularly  at  the  hour 
appointed,  both  in  winter  and  summer,  and  I  performed  the 
duties  allotted  to  me,  without  murmuring,  and  without  delay. 
It  happened  also,  that  some  of  the  other  clerks,  gay  dashing 
fellows,  would  occasionally  leave  a  share  of  their  work  to  be 
done  by  me,  and  I  did  it.  Mr.  Ben«rn  knew  tl  is;  and,  in 


AN    ADVENTURE    IN    1780.  375 

the  second  year  of  my  service,  I  received  a  considerable 
increase  of  salary,  and  a  promise  of  a  farther  advance,  if  I 
should  not  relax  in  my  diligence.  This  was  the  friendly  work 
of  the  chief  clerk,  and  I  was  grateful  accordingly. 

I  had  been  in  the  metropolis  nearly  five  years,  when  it 
became  the  scene  of  violent  outrages,  disgraceful  to  human 
nature.  It  seemed  as  if  a  legion  of  evil  spirits  had  been  let 
loose  to  harass  mankind.  On  "this  dreadful  occasion,  many, 
pursuing  their  ordinary  vocations,  fell  victims  to  the  brutality 
of  a  furious  mob,  or  to  the  indiscriminate  and  decisive  mas- 
sacre to  which  it  was  found  absolutely  necessary  to  have 
recourse.  For  three  days  and  three  nights,  the  streets  of 
London  resounded  with  the  cries  of  anarchy,  the  shouts  of 
ruffianism,  the  noise  of  fire-arms,  and  the  groans  of  the  dying. 
All  business  was  suspended;  arid  many  held  doubtful  opi- 
nions as  to  the  eventual  success  of  the  rioters. 

I  lodged,  at  that  time,  in  the  house  of  a  poor  widow,  at  the 
end  of  Gray's-Inn-lane.  I  had  chosen  this  spot,  because  it 
was  then  some  way  removed  from  the  smoke  and  noise  of 
London,  and  for  the  sake  of  the  exercise  which  its  distance 
from  the  counting-house  compelled  me  to  take.  I  found  this 
absolutely  necessary  for  my  health;  for  the  change  of  my 
native  air,  as  well  as  of  my  active  mode  of  life,  from  a  Cumber- 
land dalesman,  to  a  metropolitan  merchant's  clerk,  was  too 
abrupt  to  agree  well  with  my  country  constitution. 

Some  time  before  the  riots  actually  broke  out,  many  of  the 
merchants  closed  their  counting-houses,  and  suspended  their 
business;  for  the  discussions  in  Parliament  were  very  turbu- 
lent. Our  employers  were,  at  first,  induced  to  follow  the  ex- 
ample of  their  timid  brethren;  but  this  they  could  not  con- 
tinue to  do,  without  the  certainty  of  experiencing  a  very 
heavy  loss,  as  they  were  at  that  time  engaged  in  an  import- 
ant speculation  with  some  Russian  merchants,  the  success  of 
which  was  entirely  dependent  upon  speed  and  promptitude, 
in  order  to  meet  the  demands  of  the  foreign  market. 

What  a  dismal  gloom  hung  over  the  city!  It  was  the  5th 
of  June,  and  various  rumours  (I  heard  afterwards)  had  been 
circulated  in  the  morning,  respecting  some  remarks  which  had 
been  made  at  the  royal  levee.  It  was  one  of  those  dull, 
dense,  and  sultry  days  which  we  occasionally  have  in  the 
summer,  and  a  thick  fog  enveloped  the  metropolis.  All  the 
shops  were  shut,  and  the  streets  nearly  deserted.  Here  and 
there  might  be  seen  some  truant  straggler  like  myself,  moving 
swiftly  and  silently  along,  as  if  conscious  of  some  impending 


376  TALES  OF  OTHER  DAYS. 

and  dreadftil  danger;  and  sometimes  a  soldier,  with  his  mus- 
ket on  his  shoulder,  would  pace  by,  and  regard  the  passenger 
with  a  look  of  keen  and  suspicious  scrutiny.  Even  the 
horse-guards  were  out,  and,  now  and  then,  miyht  be  heard  the 
heavy  tread  of  a  trooper's  horse,  and  the  dull  clank  of  his 
scabbard. 

I  moved  along  Cheapside,  which  was  then  more  deserted 
in  the  middle  of  the  day,  than  I  have  since  seen  it  after  mid- 
night; and,  bending  my  course  through  Newgate-street,  ad- 
vanced towards  Snow-hill.  Before  I  had  gone  far,  however, 
I  could  see,  through  the  increasing  gloom,  a  thick  multitude, 
which  was  assembled  in  the  open  space  between  the  prison 
and  the  neighbouring  church.  Many  of  the  mob  bore  torches, 
which  glared  fitfully  upon  the  rabble,  and  I  could  catch  occa- 
sional glances  of  forms  so  hideous,  that  they  appeared  like 
the  frightful  demons  of  some  feverish  dream.  As  I  drew 
nearer,  these  objects  became  more  distinct,  and  I  could  see 
that  many  of  them  were  stripped  to  their  shirts,  and  armed 
with  bludgeons,  pick-axes,  iron  crows,  and  other  implements 
of  laborious  handicraft.  Curses,  loud  and  deep,  reached  my 
ears,  mingled  with  vows  of  vengeance  upon  the  heads  of  ob- 
noxious statesmen,  and  with  the  wild  yelling  laugh  of  intoxi- 
cated ruffianism.  Cries,  also,  of  "  No  Popery !"  "  Down 
with  the  Catholics !"  and  a  variety  of  horrid  exclamation?, 
resounded  amidst  the  uproar — all  too.  plainly  denoting  the 
crisis  to  which  the  disturbances  had  at  last  arrived. 

I  stopped,  irresolute  how  or  in  what  direction  to  proceed. 
I  was  now  near  Newgate-market,  and  began  to  mix  with  the 
skirts  of  the  crowd.  I  had  passed  the  last  outlet  on  the  north 
side  of  the  street,  and  was  turning  back,  to  avoid  the  bustle 
which  was  brewing,  when  rny  arm  was  suddenly  and  forcibly 
grasped.  I  started,  and  turned  sharply  round  on  rny  assailant, 
when  a  well-known  countenance  met  my  sight:  it  was  that  of 
one  of  my  fellow-clerks,  a  wild,  profligate  young  fellow.  He 
was  distruised  in  the  uncouth  garb  of  a  brewer's  drayman,  and 
brandished  with  his  right  hand,  a  club,  not  unlike  the  spoke 
'  of  a  large  wheel.  In  the  breast  of  his  coat,  I  perceived  the 
round  polished  stock  of  a  small  pistol,  and  something  which 
glittered  like  the  blade  of  a  butcher's  knife,  was  thrust  into  a 
side-pocket.  "  In  God's  name,  Harry  Slingsby !"  I  ex- 
claimed, "what  trick  are  you  after  now?" — "Trick!  old 
Sober-sides,"  answered  he,  as  he  grasped  my  arm  still  more 
roughly;  "  trick  you  call  it,  eh!  It's  no  trick,  I  promise  you:" 
and  he  reeled  against  the  shutters  of  a  shop-window,  and 


AN    ADVENTURE    IN    1780.  .'>  <  7 

would  have  fallen  on  the  pavement,  had  I  not  held  him  up. 
"  You  are  come  to  join  us,  I  hope,  my  lad  V"  he  continued,  as 
soon  as  he  had  a  little  recovered  himself.  "  You'll  excuse 
me,  Charles;  but  I  think  you  are  a  devilish  sroud  fellow.  We 
are  to  take  the  Bank  and  the  Tower;  burn  Newgate,  the 
Fleet,  the  Compter,  and  all  London ;  cut  all  the  judges'  throats, 
(old  Mansfield's  done  for  by  this  time,)  stick  the  ministers 
like  pigs,  (here  he  fumbled  for  the  kriite,  but  could  not  hit  it,) 
burn  the  king  on  the  top  of  the  Monument,  and  tie  all  the 
Catholics  neck  and  heels,  and  throw  them  into  the  river." 
Here  he  again  lunged  against  the  shutters,  and  almost  stove 
them  in. 

I  began  to  feel  some  anxiety  for  my  own  situation,  parti- 
cularly as  Harry's  drunken  vociferation  had  attracted  several 
ill-looking  fellows  to  the  spot;  and  I  apprehended  that  I 
might  find  it  very  difficult  to  effect  a  safe  and  unobserved  retreat. 
In  the  midst  of  my  perplexity,  the  deep-toned  clock  of  St. 
Paul's  began  to  strike  eight,  and,  before  it  had  done,  I  beheld 
the  light  of  three  tremendous  conflagrations:  Newgate,  the 
Compter,  and  the  Fleet,  were  on  iire !  I  was  instantly 
deserted  by  my  unwelcome  companions,  and  even- Slingsby 
contrived  to  stagger  to  the  scene  of  action,  which  now  re- 
sounded with  such  horrible  yells,  that,  had  all  the  nameless 
monsters  of  Pandemonium  itself  been  let  loose,  they  could 
not  have  created  a  more  dissonant  uproar.  I  made  the  best 
of  my  way  toward  Butcher-hall-lane,  into  which  I  turned,  but 
riot  before  I  had  taken  another  view  of  the  awful  scene.  I 
stood  an  instant  at  the  corner;  and,  as  I  looked  toward  New- 
gate, I  saw  that  the  roof  was  covered  with  men,  who  were 
busily  engaged  in  stuffing  tow  and  other  combustibles  under 
the  eaves  of  the  building;  and,  as  the  flames  rose  into  the 
murky  sky,  they  cast  a  dingy  red  glare  upon  the  persons  of 
the  incendiaries,  who  appeared,  amidst  the  tumult,  like  furies 
loosed  from  hell. 

I  ran  along  the  lane,  without  much  knowledge  of  the 
route  I  was  pursuing:  I  got,  however,  into  Smithfield,  crossed 
it,  and,  after  threading  several  small  alleys,  I  found  myself  at 
the  bottom  of  Holborn-hill.  I  had  gained  Iktle  or  nothing  by 
this  eccentric  peregrination,  for  I  got  into  as  great  and  lur- 
oulent  a  crowd  as  that  from  which  I  had  just  escaped.  It 
was,  if  anything,  more  boisterous,  and  it  seemed  to  me,  that 
almost  every  individual  on  whom  I  looked,  was  in  a  state  of 
.ntoxjcation;  there  was,  moreover,  a  strong  smell  of  spirits, 
for  which  I  could  not  satisfactorily  account.  I  waded  along 
K  K  2 


378  TALES  OF  OTHER  DAYS. 

however,  as  fast  as  I  could,  while  the  crowd  became  more 
and  more  dense,  and  the  strong  spirituous  odour  more  pungent. 
As  I  advanced  up  the  hill,  I  discovered  the  cause,  both  of  the 
fury  of  the  populace,  and  of  the  powerful  smell  which  I  have 
mentioned:  the  mob  had  broken  into  Langdale's  spacious 
distillery,  and  broached  all  the  spirit-casks  with  which  they 
came  in  contact,  so  that  the  streets  were  literally  deluged 
with  spirits;  and  I  saw  the  greedy  ruffians  drinking,  like 
beasts,  out  oT  the  kennels,  as  they  ran  in  a  muddy  and 
smoking  stream,  mixed  with  the  dirt  and  abominations  of  the 
street. 

I  was  now  completely  enveloped  by  an  apparently  im- 
penetrable mass  of  people;  but  I  persevered  in  my  endea- 
vours to  get  on,  and  succeeded  so  far,  as  to  disengage  myself 
from  the  thickest  of  the  crowd.  I  had  scarcely  done  so,  when 
my  attention  was  directed  to  another  object,  not  less  formi- 
dable than  the  unruly  mob  itself.  I  heard,  at  first,  a  furious 
trampling,  as  of  many  horses,  and,  at  the  next  moment,  the 
clanking  of  iron  scabbards.  I  looked  up  the  street,  and 
beheld  a  troop  of  horse  advancing  at  a  quick  and  regular 
pace — the  drawn  swords  of  the  men  occasionally  reflecting 
the  lurid  light  of  the  flames,  which  reached  them  even  at  that 
distance.  They  had  arrived  at  the  commencement  of  the 
wide  part  of  Holborn,  where  they  halted.  There  were  two 
or  three  other  persons  besides  myself  on  the  spot,  and  we 
waited  to  see  the  result. 

The  commanding  officer,  who  was  a  very  young  man.  turned 
his  horse,  and  addressed  the  men  in  the  following  words: — 
"  Now,  my  lads,  mind  what  you  are  about,  for  you  will  have 
some  tough  work.  Make  as  much  bustle  and  bother  as  you 
please,  but  spare  life,  except  in  your  own  defence.  All  that  we 
have  to  do,  is  to  disperse  the  mob,  and,  if  we  can,  to  put  an  end 
to  the  tumult:  to  shed  the  blood  of  these  poor  ignorant  devils, 
is  no  part  of  our  duty.  You  will  give  them  a  volley  of  pow- 
der first,  and  see  what  that  will  do.  You  may  knock  them 
about,  too,  with  your  flat  swords,  but  do  not,  if  you  can  help 
it,  spill  their  blood.  Now,  then — Attention ! — unsling  car- 
bines— load — forward — march  !"  They  now  moved  on  at  a 
slow  and  steady  pace,  until  they  approached  the  spot  where 
the  strength  of  the  mob  was  congregated.  They  again 
halted,  and  the  officer  gave  the  word,  which  was  immediately 
followed  by  a  volley  from  the  carbines,  and,  not  long  after- 
wards, by  a  tremendous  and  overpowering  charge.  I  saw 
the  troopers  rush  down  the  hill,  their  swords  gleaming  in  the 


AN     ADVENTURE    IN    1780.  379 

light  which  was  afforded  by  the  flames  of  the  burning  prisons; 
and  I  heard  the  frenzied  shouts  of  the  people,  as  they  fled 
in  all  directions  from  their  unexpected  assailants.  I  thought 
it  high  time  to  move  also,  and  I  hastened  towards  Gray's-lnri- 
lane,  amidst  a  crowd  of  affrighted  fugitives.  In  a  short  time, 
I  found  myself  again  disengaged  from  the  multitude,  and  was 
pursuing  my  way  in  loneliness,  when  the  screams  of  a  female 
voice  reached  my  ear.  I  hastened  onward  in  the  direction 
whence  the  sound  proceeded,  and  found  a  woman  struggling 
with  two  men,  who  were  attempting  to  rob  her.  I  did  not 
wait  to  make  any  useless  inquiries,  but  rushed  to  her  assist- 
ance, brandishing  my  stick,  and  the  ruffians  quitted  their  prey 
arid  fled,  leaving  their  victim  to  me.  She  was  wrapped  in  a 
large  mantle,  which  had  become  so  far  disengaged  from  her 
shoulders,  as  to  enable  me  to  perceive  that  she  was  very 
young,  and  that  her  form  was  of  the  most  perfect  symmetry, 
while  her  features  were  such  as  had  never  rnet  my  gaze 
before.  I  do  not  say  that  they  were  exquisitely  beautiful, 
but  there  was  a  fascination  in  them  which  riveted  my  very 
soul.  Her  lips  were  as  pale  as  ashes,  and  presented  a 
strange  contrast  to  her  cheek  and  brow,  which  were  flushed, 
from  her  efforts  to  defend  herself. 

"  I  hope,  madam,"  I  said,  "  you  have  received  no  hurt 
from  those  ruffians  ?"  "  None,  sir,  none,"  she  replied,  in 
feverish  alarm,  as  she  tremblingly  arranged  her  mantle; 
"  thanks  to  you  and  our  lady  !  But  there  is  a  strange  tumult 
in  the  street,  and  much  peril,  I  fear,  to  lonely  passengers.  I 
beseech  you,  sir,  if  you  are  an  honourable  man,  to  take  pity 
upon  me,  and  protect  me."  "  With  my  life,  lady,"  was  my 
prompt  and  instinctive  answer.  "  Command  my  services; 
they  are  wholly  at  your  disposal."  "  Dare  I  trust  you  r1"  she 
asked,  as  she  regarded  me  with  a  look  of  penetrating  scru- 
tiny, softened,  however,  by  an  expression  of  irresistible  sup- 
plication. "  You  would  not  betray  me'r"  "  I  will  die  first," 
I  readily  answered,  although  I  could  not  divine  the  cause  of 
all  this  caution.  So  spell-bound  was  I,  that  I  was  ready  to 
submit  to  any  conditions  which  she  might  think  proper  to 
impose.  I  had  no  power  to  resist  the  appeal. 

"  1  will  not  leave  you  until  you  are  in  safety,"  I  replied; 
and,  while  she  supported  herself  on  my  arm,  we  directed  our 
course  westward  from  the  city.  We  walked  on  for  some 
time  in  silence.  My  protegee  was  too  much  alarmed  to  be 
loquacious,  and  I — Heaven  help  me! — was  too  much  of  a 
liprmit  to  venture  to  interrupt  her  meditations.  In  truth,  my 


380  TALES  OF  OTHER  DAYS. 

\vay  of  living  had  been  so  secluded,  that  I  had  not  rubbed  off 
that  unhappy  bashfulness,  which  is  one  of  the  greatest  of  the 
little  miseries  of  life.  Yet,  I  had  cause  to  congratulate  my- 
self on  having  been  so  fortunate  as  to  rescue  a  woman — 
and  such  a  woman ! — from  outrage  and  injury.  We  had 
walked  for  a  considerable  time,  when  she  suddenly  stopped 
at  the  door  of  a  house  in  one  of  the  principal  streets. 

"  We  must  part  now,"  she  said — "  I  live  here."  She  hesi- 
tated a  little,  and  then  added,  "  It  would  give  me  much 
pleasure  to  know  the  name  of  my  protector."  I  gave  her  my 
address.  "  Perhaps,"  I  said,  "  you  will  not  think  it  imperti- 
nent if  I  crave  a  return  from  you  ?"  She  regarded  me  with 
a  penetrating,  though  soft  look,  as  she  answered,  "  Alas ! 
kind  sir,  it  will  afford  you  no  pleasure  to  know  my  name;  but 

I  will  not  withhold  it  from  you;  I  am  called  Beatrice  N ." 

"  Then  you  are  a  foreigner?"  I  exclaimed,  as  her  foreign 
accent  for  the  first  time  struck  me.  She  bowed  her  head. 
"  And  a  Catholic?"  I  continued.  "  I  will  never  deny  it!" 
she  answered,  lifting  her  eyes  to  Heaven,  and  speaking  with 
a  fervour  which  evinced  her  devotion.  "  But,"  she  added, 
"  I  am  endangering  you  as  well  as  myself  by  these  confessions. 
Receive  my  thanks,  my  most  grateful  thanks,  for  your  kind- 
ness to  me.  It  is  right  that  we  should  part:  yet  my  father 

would :"  she  suddenly  paused,  clasped  my  hand  in  her's, 

called  down  a  blessing  upon  my  head,  and  entered  the  house, 
leaving  me  very  much  in  the  situation  of  one  who  had  just 
awaked  from  a  dream. 

Circumstances  prevented  the  fulfilment  of  my  determination 
of  calling  on  her,  until  nearly  a  week  had  elapsed  after  the 
event,  and  I  was  then  not  a  little  disappointed  and  mortified, 
to  find  the  house  shut  up,  the  occupiers  having  quitted  it  only 
two  days  before,  and  gone  nobody  knew  whither.  Weeks, 
months,  years,  passed  on,  the  recollection  of  my  adventure 
becoming  gradually  more  weakened,  although  the  person  and 
features  of  Beatrice  were  as  firmly  impressed  upon  my  memory 
as  if  they  had  been  constantly  before  my  eyes.  It  was  the 
sixth  year  after  the  riots,  that  my  uncle's  death  enabled  me  to 
join  the  house  as  a  partner,  by  bringing  to  it  an  accession  of 
capital.  Spain  was,  at  that  time,  anxious  to  encourage  the 
commerce  of  Great  Britain,  and  the  Spanish  Ambassador,  the 

Duke  of  C- ,  was  in  the  habit  of  occasionally  entertaining 

the  most  eminent  of  our  merchants  and  capitalists.  Our 
house  was  considered  worthy  of  sharing  this  honour,  and  I, 
as  a  partner,  was  formally  invited.  These  parties  were  not 


THE  MAGICIAN'S  VISITEU.  381 

graced  with  the  presence  of  the  ladies,  but  consisted  of  the 
different  officers  of  his  Excellency's  suit,  the  Duke  himself 
always  presiding.  Among  the  Spaniards,  there  was  one  fine- 
looking  old  man,  who  held  the  office  of  aide-de-camp  and 
military  secretary;  and  my  attention  was  first  attracted  to- 
wards him  by  hearing  his  name,  which  was  N .  He  was 

a  very  pleasant,  well-informed  man,  had  served  his  country 
both  in  the  field  and  in  the  cabinet,  with  great  devotion  to  its 
interests,  and  was  apparently  well  acquainted  with  the  man- 
ners and  dispositions  of  the  English.  He  spoke  our  language 
with  fluency,  and,  by  some  means  or  other,  1  always  found 
myself  at  his  side  at  the  dinner-table.  This  produced  an 
intimacy,  with  which  I  fancied  the  old  soldier  was  pleased; 
and  I  received  a  proof  that  it  was  not  unpleasant  to  him,  by 
an  invitation  to  his  house,  to  meet  a  select  party  of  friends. 
Presenting  myself  unintentionally  before  the  appointed  hour, 
I  was  ushered  into  the  drawing-room,  and,  to  my  great 
surprise,  was  received  by  the  long-lost  Beatrice!  She  was 
alone,  and  recognized  me  instantly.  "  My  friend !"  she  ex- 
claimed, as  she  held  out  her  hand  to  me,  blushing  at  the  same 
time  most  bewitchingly — "  I  was  somewhat  prepared  for  this 
visit;  my  father  has  been  repeatedly  speaking  of  you  for  some 

days  past." — "  Then  General  N \syour  father?"  I  said, 

as  I  took  her  hand.  "  This  is,  indeed,  a  pleasure  I  never 
anticipated;" — and,  seating  myself  by  her  side,  I  received 
from  her  an  explanation  of  the  mystery  in  w  hich  her  conduct 
had  been  enveloped. 

I  need  not  tell  you,  Edward,  the  result  of  this  second 
interview;  for  you  know  that  your  mother's  name  was  Beatrice 
N . 


THE    MAGICIAN'S   VISITER. 

IT  was  at  the  close  of  a  fine  autumnal  day,  and  the  shades  of 
evening  were  beginning  to  gather  over  the  city  of  Florence, 
when  a  low  quick  rap  was  heard  at  the  door  of  Cornelius 
Agrippa.  and  shortly  afterwards  a  stranger  was  introduced 
into  the  apartment  in  which  the  philosopher  was  sitting  at 
his  studies.  The  stranger,  although  finely  formed,  and  of 
courteous  demeanour,  had  a  certain  indefinable  air  of  mystery 


382  TALES  OF  OTHER  DAYS. 

about  him,  which  excited  awe,  if,  indeed,  it  had  not  a  repel- 
lai  t  effect.  His  years  it  was  difficult  to  guess,  for  the  marks 
of  youth  and  age  were  blended  iu  his  features  in  a  most 
extraordinary  manner.  There  was  not  a  furrow  in  his  cheek, 
or  a  wrinkle  on  his  brow;  and  his  large  black  eye  beamed 
with  all  the  brilliancy  and  vivacity  of  youth;  but  his  stately 
figure  was  bent,  apparently  beneath  the  weight  of  years;  his 
hair,  although  thick  and  clustering,  was  gray;  and  his  voice 
was  feeble  and  tremulous,  yet  its  tones  were  of  the  most 
ravishing  and  soul-searching  melody.  His  costume  was  that 
of  a  Florentine  gentleman;  but  he  held  a  staff  like  that  of  a 
palmer  in  his  hand,  and  a  silken  sash,  inscribed  with  Oriental 
characters,  was  bound  around  his  waist.  His  face  was 
deadly  pale;  but  every  feature  of  it  was  singularly  beautiful, 
and  its  expression  was  that  of  profound  wisdom,  mingled 
with  poignant  sorrow.  "  Pardon  me,  learned  sir,"  said  he, 
addressing  the  philosopher,  "  but  your  fame  has  travelled 
into  all  lands,  and  has  reached  all  ears;  and  I  could  not  leave 
the  ^fair  city  of  Florence  without  seeking  an  interview  with 
one  who  is  its  greatest  boast  and  ornament."  "  You  are 
right  welcome,  sir,"  returned  Agrippa;  "  but  I  fear  that  your 
trouble  and  curiosity  will  be  but  ill  repaid.  I  am  simply  one, 
who,  instead  of  devoting  my  days,  as  do  the  wise,  to  the 
acquirement  of  wealth  and  honour,  have  passed  long  years  in 
painful  and  unprofitable  study,  in  endeavouring  to  unravel 
the  secrets  of  nature,  and  initiating  myself  in  the  mysteries 
of  the  occult  sciences."  "  Talkest  thou  of  lung  years!"  echoed 
the  stranger,  and  a  melancholy  smile  played  over  his  features: 
• — "  thou,  who  hast  scarcely  seen  fourscore  since  thou  left'st 
thy  cradle,  and  for  whom  the  quiet  grave  is  now  waiting, 
eager  to  clasp  thee  in  her  sheltering  arms!  I  was  among  the 
tombs  to-day — the  still  and  solemn  tombs:  I  saw  them 
smiling  in  the  last  beams  of  the  setting  sun.  When  I  was 
a  boy,  I  used  to  wish  to  be  like  that  sun;  his  career  was 
so  Ion?,  so  bright,  so  glorious.  But  to-night  I  thought,  *  It 
is  better  to  slumber  among  those  tombs  than  to  be  like  him.' 
To-night  he  sank  behind  the  hills,  apparently  to  repose;  but 
to-morrow  he  must  renew  his  course,  and  run  the  same  dull 
and  unvaried  but  toilsome  and  unquiet  race.  There  is  no 
grave  for  him,  and  the  night  and  morning  dews  are  the  tears 
that  he  sheds  over  his  tyrannous  destiny."  Agrippa  was  a 
deep  observer  and  admirer  of  external  nature  and  of  all  her 
phenomena,  and  had  often  gazed  upon  the  scene  which  the 
stranger  described;  but  the  feelings  and  ideas  which  it 


THE  MAGICIAN'S  VISITER.  383 

awakened  in  the  mind  of  the  latter  were  so  different  from 
anything  which  he  had  himself  experienced,  that  he  could 
not  help,  for  a  season,  gazing:  upon  him  in  speechless  wonder. 
His  guest,  however,  speedily  resumed  the  discourse.  "  Bui 
1  trouble  you — I  trouble  you; — to  my  purpose  in  making  you 
this  visit.  I  have  heard  strange  talcs  of  a  wondrous  mirror, 
which  your  potent  art  has  enabled  you  to  construct,  in  which 
whosoever  looks  may  see  the  distant  or  the  dead  on  whom  he 
is  desirous  again  to  fix  his  gaze.  My  eyes  see  nothing  in 
this  outward  visible  world  which  can  be  pleasing  to  their 
sight.  The  grave  has  closed  over  all  I  loved.  Time  has 
carried  down  in  its  stream  everything  that  once  contributed 
to  my  enjoyment.  The  world  is  a  vale  of  tears;  but  among 
all  the  tears  which  water  that  sad  valley,  not  one  is  shed  for 
me — the  fountain  in  my  own  heart,  too,  is  dried  up.  I  would 
once  again  look  upon  the  face  which  I  loved.  I  would  see 
that  eye  more  bright  and  that  step  more  stately,  than  the 
antelope's;  that  brow,  the  broad  smooth  page  on  which  God 
had  inscribed  his  fairest  characters.  I  would  gaze  on  all  I 
loved  and  all  I  lost.  Such  a  gaze  would  be  dearer  to  my 
heart  than  all  that  the  world  has  to  offer  me,  except  the 
grave — except  the  grave."  The  passionate  pleading  of  the 
stranger  had  such  an  effect  upon  Agrippa,  (who  was  not  used 
to  exhibit  his  miracle  of  art  to  the  eyes  of  all  who  desired  to 
look  in  it,  although  he  was  often  tempted  by  exorbitant  pre- 
sents and  high  honours  to  do  so,)  that  he  readily  consented 
to  grant  the  request  of  his  extraordinary  visiter.  "  Whom 
wouldst  thou  see?"  he  inquired.  "  My  child,  my  own  sweet 
Miriam,"  answered  the  stranger.  Cornelius  immediately  caused 
every  ray  of  the  light  of  heaven  to  be  excluded  from  the 
chamber,  placed  the  stranger  on  his  right  hand,  and  com- 
menced chanting,  in  a  low  soft  tone,  and  in  a  strange  lan- 
guage, some  lyrical  verses,  to  which  the  stranger  thought  he 
heard  occasionally  a  response;  but  it  was  a  sound  so  faint 
and  indistinct,  that  he  hardly  knew  whether  it  existed  any 
where  but  in  his  own  fancy.  As  Cornelius  continued  his 
chant,  the  room  gradually  became  illuminated;  but  whence 
the  light  proceeded,  it  was  impossible  to  discover.  At  length 
tlie  stranger  plainly  perceived  a  large  mirror  which  covered 
tne  whole  of  the  extreme  end  of  the  apartment,  and  over  the 
surface  of  which  a  dense  haze  or  cloud  seemed  to  be  rapidly 
passing.  "  Died  she  in  wedlock's  holy  bands?"  inquired 
Cornelius.  "  She  was  a  virgin,  spotless  as  the  snow."  "  How 
many  years  have  passed  away  since  the  grave  closed  over 


384  TALES  OF  OTHER  DAYS. 

her?"  A  cloud  gathered  on  the  stranger's  brow,  and  he 
answered,  somewhat  impatiently,  "  Many,  many;  more  than 
1  now  have  time  to  number."  "  Nay,"  said  Agrippa,  "  but 
1  must  know.  For  every  ten  years  that  have  elapsed  since 
her  death,  once  must  I  wave  this  wand;  and  when  I  have 
waved  it  for  the  last  time,  you  will  see  her  figure  in  you 
mirror."  "  Wave  on,  then,"  said  the  stranger,  and  groaned 
bitterly:  "  wave  on,  and  take  heed  that  thou  be  not  weary." 
Cornelius  Agrippa  gazed  on  his  strange  guest  with  something 
of  anger,  but  he  excused  his  want  of  courtesy  on  the  ground 
of  the  probable  extent  of  his  calamities.  He  then  waved  his 
magic  wand  many  times,  but,  to  his  consternation,  it  seemed 
to  have  lost  its  virtue.  Turning  again  to  the  stranger,  he 
exclaimed,  "Who  and  what  art  thou,  man?  Thy  presence 
troubles  me.  According  to  all  the  rules  of  my  art,  this  w  and 
has  already  described  twice  two  hundred  years — still  has  the 
surface  of  the  mirror  experienced  no  alteration.  Say,  dost 
thou  mock  me,  and  did  no  such  person  ever  exist  as  thou  hast 
described  to  me?"  "  Wave  on,  wave  on!"  was  the  stern  and 
only  reply  which  this  interrogatory  extracted  from  the 
stranger.  The  curiosity  of  Agrippa,  although  he  was  himself 
a  dealer  in  wonders,  began  now  to  be  excited,  and  a  mys- 
terious feeling  of  awe  forbade  him  to  desist  from  waving  his 
wand,  much  as  he  doubted  the  sincerity  of  his  visiter.  As  his 
arm  grew  slack,  he  heard  the  deep  solemn  tones  of  the 
stranger,  exclaiming,  "  Wave  on,  wave  on!"  and  at  length, 
after  his  wand,  according  to  the  calculations  of  his  art,  had 
described  a  period  of  above  twelve  hundred  years,  the  cloud 
cleared  away  from  the  surface  of  the  mirror,  and  the  stranger, 
with  an  exclamation  of  delight,  arose  and  gazed  rapturously 
npon  the  scene  \vhich  was  there  represented.  An  exquisitely 
rich  and  romantic  prospect  was  before  him.  In  the  distance 
rose  lofty  mountains,  crowned  with  cedars;  a  rapid  stream 
rolled  in  the  middle,  and  in  the  fore-ground  were  seen  camels 
grazing;  a  rill  trickling  by,  in  which  some  sheep  were  quench- 
ing their  thirst,  and  a  lofty  palm-tree,  beneath  whose  shade  a 
young  female  of  exquisite  beauty,  and  richly  habited  in  the 
costume  of  the  East,  was  sheltering  herself  from  the  rays  of 
the  noon-tide  snn.  "'Tisshe!  'tis  she!"  shouted  the  stranger; 
and  he  was  rushing  towards  the  mirror,  but  was  prevented  by 
Cornelius,  who  said,  "  Forbear,  rash  man,  to  quit  this  spot! 
with  each  step  that  thou  advancest  towards  the  mirror,  the 
image  will  become  fainter,  and,  shouldst  thou  approach  too 
near,  it  will  vanish  away  entirely."  Thus  warned,  he  resumed 


THE  MAGICIAN'S  VISITER.  385 

his  station,  but  his  agitation  was  so  excessive,  that  he  was 
obliged  to  lean  on  the  arm  of  the  philosopher  for  support, 
white,  from  time  to  time,  he  uttered  incoherent  expressions 
of  wonder,  delight,  and  lamentation.  " 'Tis  she!  'tis  she! 
even  as  she  looked  while  living!  How  beautiful  she  is! 
Miriam,  my  child,  canst  thou  not  speak  to  me?  By  Heaven, 
she  moves!  she  smiles'  Oh  speak,  to  me  a  single  word!  or 
only  breathe,  or  sigh!  Alas!  all's  silent — dull  and  desolate 
as  this  heart!  Again  that  smile! — that  smile,  the  remem- 
brance of  which  a  thousand  winters  have  not  been  able  to 
freeze  up  in  my  heart!  Old  man,  it  is  in  vain  to  hold  me! 
I  must,  will  clasp  her!"  As  he  uttered  the  last  words,  he 
rushed  franticly  towards  the  mirror — the  scene  represented 
within  it  faded  away — the  cloud  gathered  again  over  its 
surface — and  the  stranger  sunk  senseless  to  the  earth.  When 
he  recovered  his  consciousness,  he  found  himself  in  the  arms 
of  Agrippa,  who  was  chafing  his  temples,  and  gazing  on  him 
with  looks  of  wonder  and  fear.  He  immediately  rose  on  his 
feet,  with  restored  strength,  and,  pressing  the  hand  of  his  host, 
he  said,  "  Thanks,  thanks,  for  thy  courtesy  and  thy  kindness, 
and  for  the  sweet  but  painful  sight  which  thou  hast  presented 
to  my  eyes."  As  he  spoke  these  words,  he  put  a  purse  into 
the  hand  of  Cornelius;  but  the  latter  returned  it,  saying, 
"  Nay,  nay,  keep  thy  gold,  friend.  I  know  not,  indeed,  that 
a  Christian  man  dare  take  it;  but,  be  that  as  it  may,  I  shall 
esteem  myself  sufficiently  repaid  if  thou  wilt  tell  me  who  thou 
art."  "  Behold!"  said  the  stranger,  pointing  to  a  large  his- 
torical picture  which  hung  on  the  left  hand  of  the  room. 
"  I  see,"  said  the  philosopher;  "  an  exquisite  work  of  art,  the 
production  of  one  of  our  best  and  earliest  artists,  representing 
our  Saviour  carrying  his  cross."  "  But  look  again!"  said  the 
stranger,  fixing  his  keen  dark  eyes  intently  on  him,  and  point- 
ing to  a  figure  on  the  left  hand  of  the  picture.  Cornelius 
gazed,  and  saw  with  wonder  what  he  had  not  observed  before — 
the  extraordinary  resemblance  which  this  figure  bore  to  the 
stranger,  of  whom,  indeed,  it  might  be  said  to  be  a  portrait. 
"  That,"  said  Cornelius,  with  an  emotion  of  horror,  "  is  in- 
tended to  represent  the  unhappy  infidel  who  smote  the  divine 
Sufferer  for  not  walking  faster,  and  was  therefore  condemned 
to  walk  the  earth  himself,  until  the  period  of  that  Sufferer's 
second  coming."  "'Tis  I!  'tis  I!"  exclaimed  the  stranger; 
and,  rushing  out  of  the  house,  rapidly  disappeared.  Then  did 
Cornelius  Agrippa  .enow  that  he  had  been  conversing  with  the 
Wandering  Jew. 

L  L 


386 


A  NORWEGIAN  SKETCH. 

IT  was  on  the  afternoon  of  a  day  in  the  latter  end  of  August, 
during  a  pedestrian  tour  through  Norway,  that,  after  having 
travelled  from  the  early  morning  through  a  continuous  forest, 
I  suddenly  emerged  upon  the  margin  of  one  of  those  Fiords* 
by  which  that  country  is  intersected,  even  in  the  very  interior. 
It  was  a  calm  and  solitary  scene:  not  a  breath  rippled  the 
surface  of  the  water,  which  lay  in  such  glassy  stillness,  that  I 
could  discern,  half-way  across,  the  transient  circle  formed  by 
the  light  dip  of  the  sea-fowl's  wing.  Before  me,  the  lake 
stretched,  in  many  windings,  through  the  forest  glades,  until 
it  was  lost  among  fantastic  rocks,  which  might  be  mistaken 
for  ruins,  towering  majestically  up,  and  leaning  in  fine  relief 
upon  the  deep  blue  sky.  They  appeared  to  be  at  least  a 
league  distant;  and,  before  I  reached  them,  the  sun  had  left 
my  path  to  the  sombreness  of  evening — but  a  flood  of  light 
was  still  poured  upon  the  pinnacles  of  the  rocks,  and  upon 
the  spiral  tops  of  the  trees  that  crowned  the  heights,  which 
shelved  up  from  the  water.  When  I  attained  this  seeming 
barrier,  I  found  that  here  the  water,  after  contracting  itself 
into  a  very  narrow  strait,  spread  out  in  another  and  wider 
arm,  whose  banks  were  more  precipitous;  and,  as  day-light 
was  now  fast  departing-,  it  was  with  some  feelings  of  satisfac- 
tion that  I  descried,  at  no  great  distance,  the  grey  turrets  of 
an  ancient  chateau. 

The  building,  which  I  now  leisurely  approached,  was  con- 
structed like  all  the  residences  of  the  old  Norwegian  families 
— massive  and  irregular,  though  square.  The  heads  of  wolves, 
boars,  and  deer,  rudely  carved  in  stone,  projected  over  each 
window.  A  high  stone  wall  encompassed  the  building;  and 
a  huge  gateway,  of  the  Saxon  order,  over  which  stood,  with 
extended  wings,  an  uncouth  representation  of  an  eagle,  hold- 
ing a  fish  in  its  beak,  opened  upon  a  grass  terrace  overhang- 
ing the  water.  Two  children,  their  fair  locks  curling  over 
their  necks,  and,  seemingly,  of  the  same  age,  were  standing 
upon  the  terrace,  who,  the  moment  they  perceived  me,  fled, 
with  the  speed  of  their  native  roes,  through  the  gateway. 
After  surveying  for  a  moment,  from  the  terrace,  the  dim 

*  Fiord  is  the  Norse  appellation  of  those  sea-water  lakes,  some  of 
which  penetrate  two  hundred  miles  into  the  country. 


A    NORWEGIAN    SKETCH.  387 

landscape  beneath,  I  followed  them,  and  was  met  half-way 
across  the  circular  court  within,  by  the  master  of  the  house. 

I  expected  to  have  been  received  by  him  with  that  cordial 
welcome  which  is  usually  found  in  those  remote  spots  of 
earth,  where  the  falseness  and  knaveries  of  the  world  have 
not  yet  approached — where  the  springs  of  benevolence  have 
not  been  poisoned  by  ingratitude — nor  suspicion  entered,  to 
close  the  avenues  to  hospitality.  But  my  expectations  were 
not  realized.  The  old  man  did  not,  indeed,  refuse  to  extend 
his  hand  to  me,  but  it  was  hesitatingly;  he  did  not  refuse  me 
the  usual  welcome  of  his  country,  but  it  was  coldly  given, 
nor  did  the  children  echo  the  welcome  in  the  gleeful  faces 
with  which  infancy  had  ever  met  me,  in  places  where 
treachery  had  never  been;  but  stood  at  a  distance,  holding 
each  other  by  the  hand,  and  looking  as  if  they  mistrusted  me. 
I  followed  my  conductor  into  the  house,  where  an  abundant 
repast  was  soon  set  before  me;  but  it  was  with  an  indifferent 
relish  that  I  partook  of  what  I  suspected  to  be  the  offering  of 
cold  civility,  rather  than  of  kind-heartedness. 

I  had  made  an  end  of  my  meal,  and  had  emptied  a  goblet 
of  birch  wine  to  Gamle  Norge,*  to  convince  myself  (after  the 
example  of  Sterne)  that  I  bore  no  grudge  against  the  master 
of  the  house,  or  the  land  of  his  nativity,  when  he  entered  the 
room,  and,  walking  up  to  me,  inquired  if  I  belonged  to  the 
profession  of  medicine.-f-  I  replied  in  the  negative;  but  added, 
that  in  the  course  of  my  travels  I  had  gathered  some  little 
knowledge  of  the  science.  "  My  daughter,"  said  he,  "  my  only 
daughter,  is  dying!  Medicine,  I  believe,  could  not  save  her — 
yet  corne  with  me."  The  words  of  the  old  man — his  tone — 
his  countenance,  smote  me  for  my  suspicions  of  his  hospitality. 
"  I  have  mistaken,"  said  I,  "  the  solemnity  of  sorrow,  for  the 
coldness  of  an  ungracious  welcome." 

I  followed  him  into  the  chamber  of  his  daughter:  she  was 
sitting  in  a  chair,  and  looked  as  if  life  were  fast  ebbing  away. 
The  twin  children  were  standing  beside  their  mother's  chair — 
for  they  were  her  children — and  with  one  arm  she  encircled  them 
both — and  often,  with  the  feeble,  but  passionate  effort  of  ex- 
piring strength,  pressed  them  to  her  bosom.  She  looked  at 
her  old  father,  and  would  have  spoken,  but  could  not:  but  he 
understood  her  wish,  for  he  went  to  her,  and  supported  her, 

*  Old  Norway. 

f  Towns  in  Norway  are  so  distant  from  each  other,  that  it  is  conv 
jnon  for  medical  practitioners  to  travel  through  the  country. 


388  TALES  OF  OTHER  DAYS. 

while  she  leaned  forward,  and  put  aside  the  silken  curls  from 
the  brows  of  her  infants,  and  kissed  them.  She  seemed 
scarcely  twenty-five;  and  though  sorrow  had  blanched  her 
cheek — and  something1  more  agonizing,  more  acute,  than  sor- 
row, had  left  in  her  heart  the  poison  of  its  sting — she  was 
beautiful  still.  Need  I  say,  that  when  the  old  man  looked  at 
me,  I  could  only  shake  my  head.  The  crisis  was  at  hand.  It 
was  now  night — and,  as  the  feeble  ray  of  a  waning  moon 
streamed  faintly  through  the  window,  and  fell  upon  the 
countenance  of  the  dying,  I  said  to  myself,  "  Another  moon 
will  rise  npon  her  grave."  She  expired  the  same  night:  I  did 
not  retire  to  rest,  but  stood  in  the  window  of  my  chamber 
until  the  first  streak  of  dawn,  gazing  in  revery,  sometimes 
upon  the  dark  outlines  of  the  forest,  which  the  faint  and  fitful 
moonshine  only  defined,  but  was  too  feeble  to  enlighten,  and 
sometimes  upon  the  starry  garb  of  night,  faintly  seen  beneath 
the  cloudy  folds  of  her  mantle. 

It  was  my  intention  to  continue  my  journey  so  soon  as  I 
had  acknowledged  the  hospitalities  I  had  received;  for  in  such 
a  time  as  this,  the  presence  of  a  stranger  could  not  be  welcome. 
In  leaving  my  chamber,  1  chose  a  wrong  descent,  which  con- 
ducted me  to  a  door  that  opened  upon  the  terrace.  The 
bereaved  father  was  standing  there,  and  he  approached  to 
meet  me.  I  expressed  my  acknowledgments  for  his  hospitality, 
and  my  hopes  that  he  might  be  supported  under  his  affliction; 
and  was  about  to  take  my  leave  of  him,  when  he  laid  his  hand 
upon  mine,  and  gently  motioned  me  to  return  into  the  house. 
He  led  me  to  a  small  chamber,  which  overlooked  the  terrace 
and  the  water  below,  and,  pointing  to  a  chair,  while  he  seated 
himself  in  another,  opposite  to  me,  he  pressed  his  handker- 
chief to  his  eyes,  and  addressed  me  as  follows: — 

-"  You  must  not  leave  my  house  with  suspicions  of  its  hos- 
pitality. Your  reception  yesternight  was  ungracious;  but 
when  the  events,  which  have  brought  sorrow  into  this  family, 
are  known  to  you,  they  will  explain  the  coldness  of  the  welcome 
with  which  strangers  are  greeted  in  the  house  of  Kalmerck. 
My  daughter,  who  died  yesternight,  was  my  only  child:  to- 
morrow would  have  been  her  twenty-fourth  birthd'ay.  While 
yet  an  infant,  her  mother  died;  and  she  grew  up,  beneath  my 
eye,  in  virtue  and  gentleness — I  might  say,  in  beauty  too. 
When  the  days  of  her  early  childhood  were  passed,  she  was — 
though  still  a  child — the  companion  of  her  father;  and  when 
years  came  upon  me,  she  was  my  stay:  and  I  hoped — but 
there  is  no  Agnes  to  close  my  eyes! — she  is  gone  before  her 


A    NORWEGIAN    SKETCH.  389 

father!  It  is  six  summers  ago,  and  on  an  evening1  such  as 
yesterday,  that  I  was  standing  with  my  daughter  on  the  ter- 
race, as  was  our  frequent  custom,  pointing  out  to  her  an  eagle 
soaring  above  the  Fiord,  when  a  stranger  turned  into  the 
winding  path  that  leads  to  my  gate.  I  went  towards  him,  and 
welcomed  him.  He  informed  me  he  was  a  Swede,  and  by 
profession  a  portrait-painter.  Agnes  was  then  eighteen.  I 
beckoned  her  to  approach,  and  inquired  of  the  artist  if  hers 
was  a  countenance  which  he  could  copy.  He  undertook  to 
produce  a  faithful  likeness,  and  became  an  inmate  in  this 
house.  His  name  was  Scholberg:  his  appearance,  though 
not  youthful,  scarcely  indicated  the  meridian  of  life,  but  his 
countenance  bore  the  impress  of  thought  beyond  his  years. 

"  While  the  picture  was  in  progress,  the  artist  was  our  con- 
stant companion:  his  manners  were  agreeable,  and  his  informa- 
tion extensive — so  at  least  it  seemed  to  us,  in  this  remote 
solitude.  You  will  not  wonder,  then,  that  the  society  of 
Scholberg  had  attractions  for  both  Agnes  and  me — alas !  for 
my  poor  daughter,  it  had  too  many ! 

"  The  picture  was  at  length  completed :  this  is  it,"  said  the 
old  man,  a*  he  drew  from  a  cabinet  a  miniature  picture,  en- 
closed in  a  box  of  beech-wood,  and  placed  it  in  my  hand.  It 
represented  the  playful  countenance,  and  slight  form,  of  a  fair 
and  lovely  girl,  but  just  departed  from  childhood;  and  showed 
that  the  artist  was  deficient  in  neither  .talent  nor  sentiment. 
How  different  from  her  I  had  seen  but  yesternight! — from 
her,  who  lay  in  the  chamber  of  death!  I  withdrew  my  gaze 
from  the  picture,  and  returned  it  to  the  old  man,  who  re- 
sumed his  narrative.  "  When  the  painting  was  finished,  the 
artist  still  delayed  to  go.  I  was  in  no  haste  to  withdraw 
from  him  the  hospitality  of  my  house;  but  at  length,  some 
occasion  offering,  I  suffered  myself  to  hint  at  his  departure; — 
and  it  was  then  that  I  first  discovered  the  truth.  The  happi- 
ness of  my  child  was  everything  to  me:  I  would  not  risk  the 
peace — the  health — the  life,  perhaps,  of  my  Agnes.  In  fine, 
after  a  few  months,  I  gave  her  to  Scholberg;  and,  as  I  joined 
their  hands,  I  said  to  them,  '  My  children,  you  must  never 
leave  me!  I  am  now  an  old  man,  and  cannot  be  long  in  this 
world;  but  while  I  remain,  you,  Agnes,  will  be  my  support — 
and  you,  Scholberg,  whom  I  have  made  her  husband,  will 
ratify  her  promise.  When  I  depart,  all  I  have  will  be  my 
child's — and  you  will  then  be  free.' 

"  During  the  first  four  years  after  this  union,  little  occurred 
to  disturb  the  serenity  of  our  lives;  and  the  twin  children  you 

L  L2 


390  TALES  OF  OTHER  DAYS. 

Lave  seen  are  its  only  living  pledges.  I  now  approach  that 
part  of  my  relation  of  which  I  would  willingly  spare  myself 
the  recital;  but  I  have  not  yet  explained  the  seeming  in  hos- 
pitality of  my  house,  and  I  must  finish  the  narrative  1  have 
begun. 

"  Scholberg  appeared  gradually  to  lose  his  relish  for  the 
simple  pleasures  of  our  secluded  fife.  He  became  abstracted 
and  restless — subject  to  deep  re  very — and  was  usually  silent, 
unless  when  at  times  he  would  speak  of  countries  which  he 
had  visited;  and  contrast,  in  a  few  and  sullen  words,  the  varied 
enjoyments  of  more  favoured  lands  with  the  monotony  of  his 
present  existence.  Agnes,  too,  grew  sorrowful;  she  grieved 
to  find  that  she  and  her  children,  and  the  calm  of  domestic 
life,  had  lost  their  charm;  and  still  more  did  she  grieve  to 
think,  that  the  release  her  husband  coveted  could  only  be 
purchased  by  the  death  of  her  father.  I  now  approach  the 
dreadful  crisis  of  my  story.  One  afternoon  in  May,  three 
months  ago,  while  standing  on  the  terrace,  looking  dosvn 
upon  the  Fiord,  illuminated  by  the  rays  of  one  of  our  first 
summer  suns,  Scholberg  proposed  to  renew  the  almost  for- 
gotten custom  of  rowing  upon  the  water.  Fo*r  some  days 
before,  he  had  been  less  abstracted,  and  more  willing  to  be 
pleased,  and  he  had  that  day  shown  an  unwonted  playfulness 
of  manner.  Alas!  it  was  like  the  sunbeam  that  plays  upon 
the  surface  of  deep  water,  hiding  the  darkness  and  profundity 
beneath.  Agnes  hailed  the  proposal  as  a  promise  of  a  return 
to  old  habits  and  lost  feelings;  and  I  too  drew  a  favourable 
augury  from  it.  '  Go,  my  father,'  said  Agnes;  *  the  air  is  mild, 
and  the  water  calm:  go  with  Scholberg — I  will  watch  you 
from  the  terrace.' 

"  We  descended  the  winding  road,  and  unmoored  the  boat. 
The  Fiord,  as  you  perceive,  has  many  headlands  and 
branches;  among  these,  there  is  one  called  '  The  Three 
Brothers'  Cradle,'  from  a  tradition  current  in  Norway,  into 
which  Agnes  would  never  permit  the  boat  to  be  conducted: 
she  said  its  gloominess  terrified  her — and  the  tradition  con- 
nected with  it,  had  made  an  early  impression  upon  her  mind. 
It  is  narrow  at  the  entrance,  and  within  is  shaped  like  a  bell: 
high  rocks  encircle  it,  rising  perpendicularly  from  the  water, 
which,  from  its  unfathomable  depth,  is  of  a  pitchy  blackness. 
A  few  sapless  birch-trees  are  scattered  among  the  clefts  of 
the  rock;  and,  on  its  summit,  lofty  firs  grow  to  the  very  edge, 
and  throw  a  deeper  shade  over  the  aby^s  beneath.  To  the 
entrance  of  this  gulf  Scholberg  rowed  the  skirt';  and,  before 


A     NORVVKGIAN     SKETCH.  391 

reaching  it,  the  sun  was  sinking  behind  the  crowded  trunks 
of  the  dark  trees  that  crowned  the  rocks.  '  Shall  we  enter?' 
said  Scholberg.  When  a  youth,  I  had  sometimes  taken  my 
boat  thither,  to  scare  the  young  eagles,  and  watch  their 
ineffectual  efforts  to  mount  to  the  summit  of  the  rocks;  and 
1  felt  willing,  after  so  long  an  absence  from  the  spot,  to  recall 
once  more  the  memory  of  those  youthful  days.  We  did, 
accordingly,  enter  tVKf  Cradle.  Scholberg  rowed  nearly  to 
the  centre,  when  he  stopped,  and,  standing  up  in  the  boat,  and 
looking  to  the  sky,  told  me  to  remark  the  stars,  which  were 
visible,  although  the  sun  had  not  set.  I  said  I  could  not  per- 
ceive them.  '  Stand  up,'  said  he,  '  as  I  do,  and  place  your 
hands  thus.'  I  stood  and  looked  towards  the  sky — and  in  the 
same  moment,  the  boat  received  a  sudden  impulse.  I  stag- 
gered; and,  while  the  fall  was  yet  uncertain,  the  hand  of  the 
parricide  directed  it!  1  fell  into  the  caldron,  and  the  skiff 
shot  from  me.  I  am  relating  facts,  and  recalling  feelings:  what 
mine  were,  in  the  instant  that  I  felt  the  hand  of  my  son  hurl 
me  from  life  into  the  dark  waters,  1  cannot  describe;  though, 
if  life  had  its  longest  course  yet  to  run,  I  should  remember, 
till  its  latest  hour,  the  agony  of  that  moment.  To  save  life 
by  swimming  would  have,  been  impossible,  even  to  the 
voungest  and  the  most  vigorous — for  the  tide  was  then 
setting  in  with  great  force  up  the  Fiord:  but,  for  me,  an  old 
man,  even  to  gain  the  mouth  of  the  Cradle,  was  impracticable 
— the  distance  was  beyond  my  strength;  and,  in  that  sunless 
gulf,  the  extreme  coldness  of  the  water  must  speedily  have 
benumbed  my  limbs.  Yet,  without  any  defined  purpose  of 
saving  life,  natural  instinct  led  me  to  preserve  it  as  long  as 
possible.  But  strength  gradually  failed  me;  and  it  was  in 
one  of  my  latest  impotent  efforts  to  avert  the  moment  of 
sinking  for  ever,  that  my  hand  struck  a  hard  substance.  It 
was  the  trunk  of  a  tree:  such  are  frequent  in  the  Fiords. 
Loosened  from  the  rafts  'which  are  descending  to  the  sea, 
they  are  floated  whithersoever  the  tide  and  the  wind  may 
carry  them;  and  this  one  had,  by  the  providence  of  God,  been 
drifted  into  '  The  Cradle  of  the  Three  Brothers-'*  I  grasped 
it  with  the  clutch  of  a  drowning  man,  and,  by  a  desperate 
effort,  succeeded  in  placing  myself  upon  it.  Salvation  seemed 
now  possible — death  was,  at  all  events,  less  near.  Night  was, 
indeed,  approaching — and  cold,  and  wet,  and  the  feebleness 
of  age,  were  to  be  endured:  yet  I  had  hope.  At  this  mo- 

*  The  most  remote  creeks  of  the  Fiords  are  affected  by  the  tide. 


392 


TALES    OF    OTIIEll    DAYS. 


meat,  turning  my  eyes  towards  the  mouth  of  the  Cradle,  I 
saw  the  skiff  shoot  through  the  opening,  and  disappear. 
Gradually,  the  tide  carried  me  nearer  the  rocks,  though 
farther  from  the  outlet— at  last,  I  could  touch  them.  A  new 
and  more  defined  hope  now  arose;  by  means  of  the  rocks,  I 
could  shape  my  progress.  By  degrees,  I  found  myself 
advancing  nearer  the  outlet.  Hours  were  thus  spent;  but,  at 
length,  the  wide  Fiord,  gleaming  in  the  starlight,  stretched 
before  me.  The  tide  was  now  ebbing,  and  I  was  carried, 
without  effort,  down  the  Fiord;  until,  as  morning  was  begin- 
ning to  break,  the  tree  grounded  upon  the  sand  of  a  low  and 
sheltered  creek,  not  very  distant  from  my  own  dwelling.  Ex- 
hausted, I  threw  myself  upon  the  sand,  and  fell  asleep. 
When  I  awoke,  the  day  was  far  advanced.  Cold  and  be- 
numbed, I  arose,  and  with  difficulty  ascended  the  bank,  and 
approached  my  own  house.  Scholberg  stood  upon  the  terrace, 
and  I  was  close  to  him  before  he  perceived  me.  'Scholberg!' 
I  said.  He  turned,  and,  uttering  a  fearful  yell,  which  still 
sounds  in  my  ears,  fled  with  the  speed  of  lightning  to  the 
edge,  and  leaped  into  the  flood  below — finding  the  grave  he 
had  intended  for  me.  My  story  is  told.  Agnes,  struck 
with  the  guilt  of  her  husband,  and  its  awful  retribution,  never 
smiled  again;  and  I  am  now  left  alone  with  the  motherless 
twin  children." 

The  old  man  ceased:  a  tear  rolled  down  his  wrinkled 
cheek.  I  held  out  my  hand  to  him,  and  turned  away;  and, 
as  I  went  on  my  journey,  I  found  my  eyes  grow  dim,  when  I 
whought  of  the  solitary  old  man ! 


UCSB  LIBRARV 


495  050 


